Harry Potter: Heir of Atlantis
by Praetor Urbanus
Summary: Dark Lords don't fall to lucky teens without a lick of real training or power. Their followers don't just bend the knee to the victor. They fall to soldiers, mighty in magic and mind. Their followers rise up once again if the victor doesn't strike fear into their hearts. Harry Potter is one such soldier... Please read and review.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Ten-year old Harry Potter couldn't believe it. He always knew that his cousin Dudley was a bully, but he had expected the teachers at least to notice and object to the big lump's behavior. _Although, they have been ignoring his ne'er-do-well ways for the last several years. That still doesn't change the fact that they should do something about him. It's as if they don't give a crap about preventing these idiots from turning to crime!_

As you can see, Harry Potter was no ordinary boy. He was more intelligent than a great number of people his age. He knew it, but he didn't want anyone else to know it. Ten years previous, he had been left on the doorstep of his absolutely horrid aunt and uncle, Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Vernon was a big (his waistline was bigger than his height) bully, and probably always had been, to Harry's young mind. He was also the strongest of the three Dursleys, and therefore the only one to actually hit him, however rarely that happened. Petunia was quite the opposite, at least as far as appearances went. Behind the closed doors and windows of Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Winging, Surry, she was the least abusive, not violent at all. He could tell that she was not that much nicer a person than his Uncle Vernon, but she also seemed afraid of him. Dudley, even at almost ten years of age, was well on the way to becoming his father in miniature.

Harry was also different in one more way. He had discovered this almost by accident, when his aunt and uncle had left him locked in his cupboard under the stairs while they went somewhere with Dudley. He had gotten thirsty, and wanted a drink of water, but knew that the only way to get one was to get out of his 'bedroom.' As these thoughts swirled in his mind, he felt a rush of, _something_, from the pit of his stomach. It surged upward, travelled down his arm, and then… 'click!' The door to his cupboard swung quietly open.

Having discovered this power, Harry had decided to do some experimentation. He found that he could move objects without touching them. He had power over light, producing it when needed, bending it at his whim. He could manipulate fire, and was immune to its burning. After several years of study, he had mastered these powers. He had decided to call this ability Magic, as he couldn't understand it beyond the fact that he had it. He had once thought that he was going to have to continue working hard at studying magic in secret, until he could use it to escape his current 'home.' _Home, yeah right! Prison, more like._

But on this twenty-fourth of August, 1990, Harry Potter wasn't thinking about magic. He was at school, as usual, performing one of the Kung Fu forms he had learned. That was also normal for the young wizard. Even though his master had taught him about magic, they took time to improve his physical fitness regularly. 'Strong body, strong mind, strong magic,' as Gilderoy had once said.

Even as Harry worked through his Kung Fu form, he thought back to the first time he met the only father figure he had ever known.

_He was five years old, and had just finished his first week at Primary. He had turned in his first piece of homework the day before and received high marks for it. He had been so excited that evening that he ran back to 4 Privet Drive to show his aunt and uncle. He thought that they would finally see that he was not worthless and actually be nice to him. He was wrong. His uncle had bellowed something about how he must have cheated off of their 'precious Dudders' and actually given him a lash with his belt. _

_Being a boy of greater than average intelligence, Harry concluded that his relatives would think him worthless regardless of how well he proved himself. He resolved to never do more than Dudley, never score higher marks than Dudley, never learn faster than Dudley, until he could escape from his prison. _

_Today was different, however. After school, Harry knew that he would have a problem with Dudley, and observed that the baby whale would never set foot in a library. But before he could even think about which way to go to avoid his cousin, he heard the Head Teacher calling him to his office. _O, what have I done now? _Harry thought. The young wizard trudged out of the classroom to the sound of Dudley laughing with his friends at his back. Once there, Harry saw a man with bright blond hair and dazzling white teeth talking with the Head Teacher. The stranger said a few more words Harry couldn't hear, then put a hand on his shoulders and steered him to another building behind the school._

_Once on his own with the stranger, Harry became nervous. The man had not been kind in his mannerisms, and had made it seem that Harry was going to be kept back as some kind of discipline case. But after the door closed, the man sighed in relief, and tapped a symbol on the wall. Harry could feel _something_ rising from the floor, pushing outward, as if to protect the building he found himself in. He didn't know then what he felt or how, but it startled him enough that he could no longer think about what the stranger was doing. _

_When Harry decided that he couldn't figure out what that strange sensation was, he was in some kind of nurse's office, lying on a clean bed. A young-looking woman stood over him, waving a stick and muttering in some foreign language. A few minutes later, she put the stick away, fetched a few bottles from the wall behind her, and started pouring them down Harry's throat. Some tasted rather unpleasant. _

_Then the blond man came in, took out a stick of his own, which looked different than the one in the woman's hand, and waved it. Harry rubbed his eyes in disbelief; the man had just made a comfy-looking chair appear out of _nowhere!_ "Hello Harry Potter. My name is Gilderoy Lockhart, and thank Merlin I found you. Healer Johnson has discovered a number of health issues that all of us find most disturbing. I will not ask you how they happened; I think we both know the answer to that one already."_

_Harry froze. _How could this stranger know about _that_? The Dursleys haven't done much to me, and nothing recently enough for it to matter…_ Then the stranger continued. "Your name is Harry James Potter. Your parents were James Charles Potter and his wife Lily Marie Potter, née Evans. And most importantly, you are a wizard."_

Ever since that day, Harry had been under the tutelage of Gilderoy Lockhart. Every weekday, after school, Harry went to the building behind the school to meet with his master. Gilderoy had explained that he had convinced the Head Teacher to allow this by telling the man that it was a program for trouble-makers, and that Harry had to seem to fit the mold to make the story believable. The young wizard learned many things in the 'program,' both magical and mundane, from Master Gilderoy. The man was a positive fount of knowledge, and never hesitated to share it with his apprentice.

Healer Johnson had overseen a potion regimen that had built Harry's body up to where it would have been but for the Dursley-enforced malnutrition and beyond. He was now one of the tallest in his class, and the strongest. The mental damage took quite a bit longer to heal, but the constant love and support from both his master and his healer eventually brought him out of his shell. He remembered the lessons his relatives (primarily Vernon) had forced on him, with their cruel words and occasional actions, and thanked them for some of them. His high efficiency and effectiveness both came from his activities at 4 Privet Drive, as did his unusual tolerance for discomfort. His new family provided him with the reserves of strength to make the most of his situation, while minimizing the negatives he would have learned otherwise.

Harry was a very eager student, and soaked up knowledge rapidly. Every day, he learned something new. The schedule was rather predictable. On Monday, he had lessons in magic, what Gilderoy had called Charms, Transfiguration, and Magical Defense. On Tuesday, he trained in physical combat, and had become a prodigy in Kung Fu and with the broadsword. On Wednesday, he entered the lab for Potions, Runic Studies, Herbology, and Arithmancy. His Thursdays were filled with lessons in politics, strategy, languages, and other non-magical intellectual subjects. Fridays were the odd ducks; some were lessons with various females on the social arts, others were gladiator matches in which Harry fought some beast or other.

When Harry asked his master why he had to learn so much combat, shortly after his ninth birthday, Gilderoy had sat him down and told him how his parents died. He learned about Lord Voldemort. The story naturally led to the Boy Who Lived, the fictional interpretation of Harry's life and person. Gilderoy had done what he could to shape the legend, but it was not in his control entirely. Once Harry returned to the wizarding world, he would be judged based on how he measured up to the image of him conjured up by the dozens of authors, even if none of them could agree on anything. He would be a target for the followers of Lord Voldemort, any resurrected Voldemort himself, and likely any new Dark Lords who chose to replace him. Harry was most put out by the knowledge that people were already forming opinions of him, despite never meeting any of them, and threw a-_small_-fit over it.

"Excellent form, Harry!" His master's voice dragged him out of his musings. "You have reached the point that this has become instinct." Harry shook his head, "I apologize for my inattentiveness, Master." Gilderoy nodded, glad that his apprentice had heard the rebuke, and held out a letter.

Harry took it, knowing immediately who it was from. That handwriting could only be from his best friend, Hermione. They had met through an inter-school pen-pal assignment in English class, and liked each other so much that they decided to maintain the contact. He sometimes thought it a bit strange that a pre-pubescent boy would feel closer to a girl of his own age than any of the boys he had met, but it made sense in a way. Their early letters were marked by the loneliness of genius. They had no-one else in their peer group to talk to regularly, and clung to each other tightly.

Hermione Granger was even smarter than he was in many things. Her grades were some of the highest on record, and she displayed such aptitude for books and logic that Harry could easily see her becoming a researcher. But it was something unusual which had truly drawn them together: Magic. His best friend was a witch, and had told him about her accidental magic in a number of letters. The one he could not think of without chortling was the time her parents had given her a frilly pink dress, only to have her throw a tantrum because she hated the color, and find that the dress, still in her mother's hands, had changed to emerald green.

He opened the letter.

_Dear Harry,_

_I WON! I know you said I'd win that Maths competition easily, but I scored higher than anyone has before! I wish you could have been there. My parents took me out to a very nice restaurant afterwards. I would have very much enjoyed your company. Thank you for your letter explaining why you couldn't come, I would have been devastated otherwise. _

_Your advice on the Flame and the Void has been most helpful. I can now control most of the powers I have developed. How long have you been learning magic? And why did you never tell me? That technique could have been an accident, even if it worked well enough to suggest otherwise. But fireballs? Levitation? All the other spell ideas you've given me? The only way I can think of that you could have known about those is if you yourself have been learning magic, and decided to help a fellow mage. _

_Your dearest friend,_

_Hermione Granger_

Harry sighed. He had shared some of his techniques with her after she rather tearfully wrote that her parents were becoming wary and even fearful of her. Seeing how his own family had been torn apart, he couldn't bear the thought of his best friend suffering the same. He had gotten a good scolding from his master about sharing his magical knowledge with anyone, even if it was somewhat mitigated by the way he phrased it. _I really should have expected her to see through my ruse. She's too intelligent to be so blind. _Harry then picked up his favorite fountain pen and a piece of his personalized letterhead, and began to write.

***Scene Break***

When that day's scheduled time with Gilderoy ended, Harry bid goodbye to his master and turned his feet toward Number 4. He didn't like living there; in fact, he could scarcely think of a house more miserable to live in, save for that one owned by a witch who liked to eat children. (When he'd brought up that comparison with his Healer, she had told him the true tale, in which the witch was actually a Hag-a parody of a woman who had to eat human flesh to survive-and the breadcrumb trail hadn't actually saved the lives of those two children, only let their loving uncle take revenge by executing the Hag.)

No, the only reason he still lived there was the intense degree of protection he had within its walls, and to a limited extent outside them. Blood was costly and highly tricky to use for magic, but there was no focus more powerful without delving into truly the Dark Arts of Necromancy. The wizard who had placed Harry with the Dursleys had converted his mother's ritual of protection into a ward schema that would protect him so long as he lived with his Aunt for a certain period of time every year. When Gilderoy explained this, he said he would have had to bring in a full team of master Wardbuilders and a lot more magic to draw from to get Harry better protection.

Lockhart had speculated that Dumbledore would probably say that the protection could be ended early if Harry no longer called the place 'home,' but Harry shot that down immediately. _I don't understand how anyone could call that place a 'home.' It is a place of residence, nothing more, and that is what I've always considered it._

Regardless of what would actually bring down the blood wards, they worked so long as Harry and Petunia lived within them. Harry didn't so much care about whether the walrus and baby whale (his terms for Vernon and Dudley) were protected. If a Death Eater were to attack either of them, he would consider it poetic justice and no more important to him than whether rain or shine were predicted the next day. His Aunt, on the other hand, was quite a bit nicer to him whenever the others weren't there. She wasn't particularly kind to him, but she never hurled abuse at him if neither of the others could hear it. He wouldn't want her to get caught by a stray curse in that hypothetical Death Eater attack, even if her death wouldn't end his protection.

That thought completed, he walked the final stretch of road to Number 4. Nothing unusual had presented itself to him, just like most of the previous ones. He had learned that he should always be aware of his surroundings, and his master had reinforced the lesson by hiding unexpected things on his route home from time to time. He had eventually found a way to avoid having to deal with them at all, and Gilderoy had congratulated him heartily on that stroke of brilliance.

He stopped on the porch to his place of residence, pulled out the key from under the doormat, and stepped through the freshly-unlocked door, replacing the key as he went with a bit of magic. Vernon would sometimes lock the door so Harry would have to knock to be admitted to the house and be punished with a smaller helping than normal (which was already rather small). Harry didn't actually know if Vernon had yet learned that such actions did absolutely nothing to Harry, who had alternate sources of nourishment, but figured that it wouldn't matter anyway. He had problems enough without his so-called uncle yelling at him.

The Dursleys were washing up for dinner when he walked in. Rather than wait for the kitchen sink to become available, he went to the upstairs bathroom to clean his hands. The one thing Aunt Petunia insisted upon even though her husband grumbled about it was not getting unneeded dirt on the silverware, and she held the whole household to that standard. He'd learned that she was not alone in this, so never complained about it. _Who could win an argument with a housewife over her domain, anyway?_

After a meal that was heavier on the lard and salt than Harry knew to be perfectly healthy, the young wizard cleared the table and began scrubbing the soiled dishes. Before his master had come along with his "Ne'er-do-well's program," Harry had been expected to help his Aunt cook dinner, but he couldn't get out of the aftermath so easily. The amount of time he spent with his master (and healer), whether training or simply in his company, had drastically cut down the number of chores Vernon could force upon him. This was one of the easier ones, in that he was indoors and thus not exposed to the heat of the summer evening.

As he worked, he allowed his mind to wander. _I know I've thought about this many times, but why do the teachers ignore Dudley's bullying? He's been held back for summer school every year since we started Primary, so the teacher's should be paying more attention, making sure he does the work properly. The only explanation I can think of is willful blindness, but that doesn't explain just why they are willing._

Most of the possible answers he came up with revolved around his uncle. The man was well-known, and seemed to always get his way. He didn't know if that was simply because all the authority figures in this town were classmates of Vernon's from Smeltings, or if the elder Dursley was involved with organized crime, or if some magic had been worked on him. Regardless of what it was, it protected the man's son from the consequences of his own stupidity in much the same way the magic did wizards.

Harry placed the last dish, cleaned and dried, in the cabinet it had come out of. The Dursleys had all retired to the sitting room to watch the tele, so he knew that they wouldn't pay him any attention for some time. Since he had a few reading assignments to finish up for mundane school, he went to his cupboard, lay down, and opened the first book.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Harry fiddled with his jacket. It fit him like a glove, as he supposed it should, but it still didn't feel as right as his suit of Dwarf-forged runic Adamantium plate armor. _I really wish Hermione had chosen a less formal restaurant for her birthday dinner and dancing_, Harry mused. Still, it was for his best friend, who he didn't have many opportunities to see in person, so he could bear with her taste for one evening. _Besides, I quite like her hugs._

His master then walked out of his own quarters in their little hidden fortress, dressed to the nines much like Harry. Even if their clothing was entirely muggle in appearance, Harry knew better than to think that they hadn't been layered in so many defensive charms and runic enchantments as to make them almost as good as the Adamantium mail the two wizards had lining them. Harry knew that this was standard attire for two people going out to social events but had to plan for one or more of their truly disturbing number of dangerous enemies dropping in at inopportune moments, and so said nothing about it.

"Ready to go, Harry?" Gilderoy asked. "Of course," Harry replied, as both parties expected. One of the first lessons his master had battered into his skull with a runic warhammer was _"Always be prepared. Heroes do a lot more planning than most expect us to. If we didn't, most of us would have discovered how debilitating the retirement package is." _He could remember the price he paid for forgetting that one while training in the city of Erebor, home of Durin's Folk.

_Harry had just finished running his second mile during that morning's training course, when he felt something strike him in the back of the skull. He spat out some dirt, and turned around, readying his wooden training blade. There were fifteen Dwarves behind him, several of them holding the small balls of excrement they used to simulate missiles in combat exercises. He always ran with his sword holstered at his waist, and realized belatedly that he should have brought his shield too. _Damn my weak back!_ He fumed. _Oh well, this wasn't going to be pleasant in any event.

_When he came to, his drill instructor stood over him, grinning. "Have you learned your lesson yet, wand-waver?" Harry's reply was swift, "Yes, sir. Always prepare for any eventuality. Otherwise it won't be shit flying at your fan." _

Of course, Gilderoy had laughed his head off when Dain told him what Harry had said, and then sharply scolded him for using such uncivilized language. Harry thought that he should have expected that sort of thing. Dwarves were well-known for their fiery tempers and the profanity regularly (and loudly) displayed by those of lower-class upbringing. Of the group Harry trained with, only two of the twelve had had the sort of training needed to fully control the impulse to curse like a muggle sailor, and three more hadn't gotten enough. Gilderoy had met them all at least once before those two months of intense training started, so Harry thought that his master had no excuse for not anticipating Harry's return with some of that language in his head.

They walked to the end of the alley they had apparated to and turned onto the street. They had to do this every time Harry visited Hermione in the past, so as to avoid suspicion of just popping in out of thin air. British light rail service was quite good in the greater London area, and as long as they seemed to come from the local station, suspicion would be practically nonexistent. But the night was young, and the air fresher than in Little Whinging, so the young wizard chose not to complain. He knew it wouldn't do any good if he did, anyway.

Twenty minutes later, Harry and the man he always introduced as his Uncle in this part of town turned to walk down Hermione's street. This neighborhood was built for the upper-middle class, the parts visible from the street all immaculate and somewhat expensive-looking. Quite a few of the houses, including Hermione's, had been built before George VI became King, so the architecture was quite pleasant to look at. He had gotten several complaints through her letters that Hermione didn't much like the inconvenience of having to keep fires burning for heat in winter, among other problems of legally-protected historical houses, but the young wizard still thought he'd rather live here than on Privet Drive.

Then, Harry looked up at the house his best friend lived in, wondering if his letter had been well-received. He hated lying to her, even if only by omission, but he had done his best to tell her that he was forbidden to answer her question at that time. Since it was now the 22nd of September, fully three days after a Hogwarts professor should have visited her and explained about magic, and nearly a month after she should have received his letter, he could not be sure what he was walking into. _I only hope she took the hint about staying quiet about me._

He knocked on the door. A moment later, a man he knew to be Hermione's father, Donald Granger, opened it. He and Gilderoy exchanged pleasantries, which Harry barely paid attention to, and they started toward the sitting room, where Hermione had decided to wait for her guests. He walked in, wondering how to go about winning his best friend back, if she didn't take his stalling well, but found it hard to breath less than two seconds later.

"Oh Harry! I'm so glad you could come! Girls, this is Harry Potter, my best friend." Hermione had given him one of her signature hugs, and hadn't taken her arms back. She seemed to have known that he had been concerned about his reception, thought about it for a while, and decided to reassure him in the way only she could do properly. Not that he would judge his success in any endeavor by whether his female best friend hugged him, no sir. "Happy birthday, Hermione."

Harry then turned to the others in the room, still wearing a witch and a grin that plainly showed his relief at not having to plead any sort of law to escape her wrath. There were three girls, aged around ten years, and one younger boy, who looked all of seven looking at him. One of the girls was obviously something of a gossip, as the smile on her face strongly suggested that Hermione would have some teasing to put up with over her proximity to a rather handsome boy.

Harry had to admit that he did look good. Given that they were going to a fancy restaurant, he was decked out in a black dinner jacket, black silk bow tie, silver and royal blue vest, black slacks with satin stripe, shiny black dance-comfortable balmorals, and a white tuxedo shirt with black studs and black and silver cufflinks. Hermione was wearing a silver dress that reached to her ankles, deep blue dance shoes and gloves, and sapphire clip-on earrings.

A part of Harry's mind told him that she was quite stunning when she wanted to be. He distracted himself from this decidedly non-boyish thought by turning his gaze to the other party-goers. The three girls were no less impressive in their own attire than Hermione, though Harry did note that the little boy looked decidedly uncomfortable in his suit.

"Good evening, ladies." Harry said, with the small nod of the head that Lady Celebrian had drilled him in the summer before. He thought the motion looked quite dignified, and was not disappointed when the training that the three other girls had clearly received took over. He was really quite thankful that he had friends of better quality than these were. _Hermione's bookishness works in her favor in this social set,_ Harry mused. _It keeps her from getting too attached to any of these backstabbing 'noble ladies.'_ Though he would never admit it, Harry also thought that her tendency to keep to herself benefitted him in his future search for the wife he would need as the scion of a pureblood house. She was intelligent, magically gifted, and fierce, all traits that would be well-thought of by most half-bloods and those in the other communities he circled in.

The six youngsters then trooped down the stairs, to meet the adults and open presents before piling into the car for the restaurant. Harry's selection of gift got the most exuberant smile from the birthday girl, Harry noted with pride, even if it was smaller than some of the others' offerings. Then the party exited the house and climbed into the limousine that had been procured for the night's festivities. Being a nobleman, even if he was by no means gentle in his own estimation, Harry offered his best friend a hand as she sat down. She rewarded him with a dazzling smile that somehow improved his already joyous mood.

When the group of fourteen arrived at the restaurant and moved to take their reserved table, there was a bit of tension as the mothers of two of the girls tried to maneuver their daughters next to Harry. He could tell that they were affected by his image of great wealth, and to be fair, he was very good at looking the part of the rich aristocrat. _Probably think their girls have a chance with me._ But he was in no mood for such games. He pulled out Hermione's chair at the head of the table, smiling as she took it, pushed it back in, then immediately claimed the seat directly to her left.

During dinner, Harry couldn't help but notice that Hermione kept shooting him looks. He had a good idea what she wanted to talk to him about, but couldn't think of a suitable excuse to take her off on her own so he could explain it to her. He could, of course, deploy one of his runic cloaking devices, but thought those were better suited to emergencies. They took quite a bit of effort to get just right, as even the slightest mistake would render them useless.

Despite the fact that he and his master were in muggle London, Harry had every anti-scrying enchantment woven into his attire as possible. He didn't think it likely that any dark wizard would try to locate him, especially given that one of the most powerful wizards of recent years had announced that he was safe, but he wanted to be prepared in case they did.

After everyone had finished their slice of sinfully delicious birthday cake, provided by the restaurant, the party moved a few blocks over to an indoor dance hall. Harry had been practicing his waltz, and was most determined to dance with his best friend before anyone else. _Not to mention that it will signal to these jackals that I'm NOT interested in their daughters! None of them could deal with the insanity that is my life._ Sure enough, the first round that evening was a waltz.

"May I have this dance, My Lady?" Harry asked in his most suave voice.

Hermione giggled, "Of course, My Lord."

He led her out onto the dance floor, and took up the competition-grade starting position that he had drilled. She molded herself to his side, and together they moved. Neither one could stop smiling, though neither of them could tell you why, exactly, that was the case.

After several rounds of dancing, Harry decided that the moment had come. He had looked the place up after receiving the invite, and knew that they had an indoor rose garden. Harry led her off the dance floor. "Hermione, would you join me in a turn about the garden?" he inquired. "Of course I will. I need some time to catch my breath, anyway."

Once they were far enough into the garden that eavesdropping would be difficult, Harry pulled out one of his devices and turned it on. He had invented this one himself, and named it the Cone of Silence, after a device of similar function in an old American television program. Even if he was quite proud that his device worked orders of magnitude better than its namesake. "I do believe I owe an explanation for why I was less than entirely truthful to you, Hermione. You asked some difficult questions that I couldn't answer without proof. Have you received that?"

She smiled at him. "I was fairly angry at you for a time. Then I was sad because I thought I hadn't earned your trust. When Professor McGonagall delivered my letter and demonstrated magic to us on my birthday, I asked her why nobody knew of it or the world she lived in. She told me about the International Statute of Secrecy, and the laws in Britain to enforce it. Thinking about your letters, I realize that it was a gray area, but if you had to explain magic to my parents, you would have been forced to perform a spell or two. That would have gotten you into trouble."

Harry sighed in relief, unable to contain the emotion. "Thank heaven you see it that way. After failing to receive your weekly letter, I thought that you had decided to end our friendship. I was quite miserable until my uncle handed me the invitation to your birthday."

Hermione's smile got bigger at that. Hearing how much Harry valued her friendship just sang to the largely lonely bookworm. She took his arm, which she had dropped to talk to him, and decided to have the conversation that they both wanted. They were still talking when her parents came looking for her an hour and a half later, and they left that garden eager for the moment when they could see each other without all of the bother of travel.

***Scene Break***

When Harry walked through the door back at the little fortress in Little Whinging, he was elated but exhausted from the party. He immediately stripped out of his bowtie, jacket, and shoes, letting his poor toes breath for the first time in hours. He made his way to the room he used on the weekends, reveling in the deception that Gilderoy had pulled on Vernon Dursley (as Dudley had no need to know, and Petunia seemed less important to keep in the dark). _Keep me out of trouble, now that's just ridiculous! As if anyone of _normal_ intelligence would believe that one. Not to mention the question of whether it's even possible to keep me out of trouble. I have very grave doubts about that, given all I've heard and learned. _

His master chose that moment to pop his head in through the door. "Question 1: a dark wizard attacks you while you're on a date. What is the proper response?" Harry was accustomed to this sort of random quiz. "Shield against the first spell, then Apparate out with my date. Don't waste time in combat." "Very good, Harry. Question 2: what is the first rule of the centaur?" Having spent two months with a herd of them that very summer, Harry answered quickly. "Your safety is your own responsibility. Trusting someone else to guard your life makes you no better than a slave."

Glideroy nodded approvingly. "You have learned well, Harry. Now we enter the final phase of your training: preparing for deception. Appearing to be a fool hiding under a veneer of heroic deeds and skill is the only reason I am alive today. If I was actually known to be as competent as I make myself out to be in those books, Voldemort or one of his more talented Death Eaters would have blasted me to pieces. So long as he thinks you a guileless pawn, firmly under the thumb of his real opponent, you may operate against him, strike at his forces and schemes with impunity. Get some rest. You'll need it."


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Get up, Boy! Don't spoil the breakfast! I want everything perfect for my Duddy's birthday."

Harry opened his eyes, staring sleepily at the stairs above him. He always hated waking up in this cupboard. _I know my act depends on this, but nobody said I had to like it or take it lying down._ The young wizard had long since carved runes into the walls of what passed as his bedroom in this godforsaken place, sealed in blood, to expand the available space, repel vermin, regulate the temperature, and a host of other things. Each part of this was also carefully concealed against detection by others, whether magic or muggle. He couldn't' afford to have Vernon questioning the much greater legroom he had arranged for himself. The truly cunning part of this scheme was that runes were not active magic, so Harry could easily make and activate them without triggering any of the alarms the Ministry of Magic had set to detect any underage magic, so they could come swooping in and undo it. Not to mention charge his with a crime if they could, which Lucius Malfoy would undoubtedly push for. He had even tied them to the wards Dumbledore had erected to keep Harry safe, and thus achieve much greater efficiency with blood magic.

Whatever measures Harry had taken to make his necessary stay at this prison more tolerable, none would ever substitute for his suite of rooms in his school fortress. He had been very careful to maintain his cover as a sub-human servant of no cunning, intelligence, or ambition. One of the least pleasant aspects of that was actually doing the cooking, cleaning, and gardening for his lazy relatives, at least when he wasn't rooming in the home of the disciplinarian the Head Teacher of his school thought his master was.

Harry sighed in resignation. Then he opened the unlocked cupboard door, padded his way to the kitchen, and started preparing the usual obscenely large amount of food.

His aunt hovered around him, making snide remarks about his obvious 'lack of skill.' This was par for the course, and completely ignored the fact that Harry was a more highly skilled chef than his aunt ever would be, not to mention the fact that she was saying them loud enough for Vernon to hear them from wherever he was. He had long since accepted the near complete bifurcation between his life as the Dursleys' servant and his training to become the Boy Who Lived.

Shortly after, his cousin and uncle wandered into the kitchen. They always tried to make it seem like they didn't like his food, but Harry knew better. _Although, I wonder whether I should count them scarfing down everything I put in front of them as a compliment. They might do that even if the cooking was atrocious._

Harry didn't get much to eat at that time. He never did. One of the things that he had arranged in his expanded cupboard was a small portal, able to transfer food to him undetectably to anyone outside his door. His master always made sure that he ate before the Dursleys thundered on the stairs to wake him up for the new day of abuse. That simple act of feeding him proper food daily had almost done more to restore his spirit than the love he received from Healer Johnson and Gilderoy. They were the parents he never thought he'd have, before.

The phone rang. Petunia answered it. Harry could only hear one side of the conversation, but he could tell from his aunt's expressions that she didn't like what she heard. "Bad news, Vernon. Mrs. Figg broke her leg and is in the hospital. She won't be able to take the Freak, today."

_And queue the brat_, Harry thought_. _Dudley whined exactly as expected. "But Mum! The Freak will ruin my birthday! I don't want him to come!"

To his surprise, however, Petunia Dursley actually managed to deny her 'ickle Duddykins.' "We have no time to make other arrangements. If we left him here alone, he'd probably burn the house down, simply to cover his tracks while escaping. I'm sorry, but we'll just have to take him with us."

Dudley, of course, threw an even greater tantrum at that. He didn't stop until Vernon promised him an hour do whatever he wanted with the Freak that evening. Stupid as he was, the corpulent brat could see the fun he'd have with his 'cousin.'

On the drive to the zoo, Harry found himself squashed between Dudley and the boy's rat-like friend, Piers Polkiss. The only differences between them were size and intelligence. Polkiss was much more normal by mass, and a good deal more cunning, than Dudley. He was almost as fast as Harry was, and he made the games of 'Harry Hunting' more dangerous than they would otherwise be. But Harry wasn't focusing on them.

_The bowstring slapped the dragonhide bracer. The arrow he had just loosed hurtled through the air, and embedded itself in the target two hundred meters downrange. _

_-ἒ-Excellent shot, young mage. You're becoming almost as skilled at archery as my son.-ἒ- Harry turned around. The man speaking was no man at all; he was an Elf, one of the Eldar race long thought lost in legend. Like all of his people, he was tall, his hair was long, and his face showed both the wisdom of the ages and the kindness of his heart. _

_-ἒ-Thank you, my Lord Elrond. My teachers are quite able to pinpoint where I could improve, and then teach me what I need.-ἒ- As he always did when in the valley of Imladris, he spoke the ancient tongue of the Elves. He had learned it well. _

_-ἒ-Come, my friend; it is time for your lesson in politics and morality.-ἒ- Then the Elven lord Elrond Peredhil turned and walked away, expecting Harry to follow. He did, unconsciously mirroring the older being's regal yet gentle grace. The two talked at length about the state of the world, pursuing topics that had featured in the long series of letters betwixt the two friends, as was the custom for teaching young Elves. Harry knew that he was not an Elf, but he certainly enjoyed being treated like one. _

_Elrond's lessons always followed the same general path. He and his pupil would walk through the gardens on the way to the great library at what a certain muggle called the Last Homely House. Once there, they would begin their study of the deeds of rulers long past, recorded in the tomes so all might profit from their wisdom. The discussions which always followed the readings often lasted late into the evening, so they would usually take dinner at whatever table they had commandeered. _

_This evening, however, was different. Celebrían, Elrond's wife, glided to her husband. She brought with her the young Arwen, daughter of the lord Elrond. Harry knew her well; his lessons on the arts, history, philosophy, and of course the Elven language always included the radiant Elven Maiden. She had become one of the few friends he had his own age in this place, even if he spent less time thinking about or communicating with her than he did Hermione. _

_-ἒ-May we join you, my Love?-ἒ- the Elf Lady asked. Elrond smiled brightly, and gave his consent. She and her daughter then took the spare seats, as the servants brought in the meal. Conversation was lively, and Harry participated as much as the others. The food was delicious, and Harry complimented Arwen on her improving culinary skills, after his hostess mentioned who made it. He was still only a nine year old boy, so he followed that by teasing her with his own superior ability, and offered to teach her sometime. _

_Then the conversation turned to more serious matters. -ἒ-One of the hunters was brought back this afternoon. He had arrows in his knee and shoulder. The healers said they carried the poison typically used by Goblins, and barely extracted it in time to save him.-ἒ- _

_Elrond replied, a grave expression on his face. -ἒ-This is distressing news. The Goblin Hordes have not been this active since the last Rebellion ended in 1770. They must have expanded their tunnel networks to get under the powerful wards protecting that forest.-ἒ- _

_-ἒ-I asked the centaurs to keep watch for this enemy. They do live in that forest, after all,-ἒ- Celebrían informed the table. Elrond nodded. -ἒ-Harry, what course of action would you recommend in this circumstance?-ἒ-_

_Harry thought for a bit, noticing Arwen smiling at him faithfully. -ἒ-I would send riders to patrol the area, and inform the members of the White Council in private. There is no sense in allowing panic to set in, as it has been some time since the last armed conflict with the Goblins. But we must not let our allies be caught off-guard. The Dwarves, in particular, would hate being surprised by any Goblin attacks on their mountain halls. Given the length of time they've had to prepare for this coming conflict, I think that whatever the Goblins are doing, it can't be good.-ἒ-_

_Elrond smiled. -ἒ-And what of wizard-kind's dependence on the Goblins for financial services?-ἒ- Harry already had an answer to that one. -ἒ-I have friends employed by the Gnomes' bank in Zurich, and my most recent letter to them mentioned the possibility of opening a branch of the bank in London. I have yet to receive a reply, but my conversations with my own accounts manager have told me that there would be interest, if the Wizengamot would approve the competition with Gringott's.-ἒ-_

A dip in the road and a shout of delight brought Harry out of his memories. He looked around. They were just pulling into the parking lot of the zoo, and it was fairly packed. School had let out for the summer just that week, so many parents had decided to take their children to see the animals. Petunia, Dudley, and Polkiss set off for the gates as soon as they had located a free space.

"Now listen, Freak. I don't want any of your funny business, you hear me, Boy?" Harry nodded and said "Yes sir," in the downtrodden, subservient voice he always used with his alleged Uncle.

Vernon then marched off toward his wife and son, Harry following meekly behind him. The young wizard didn't bother to listen to what his relatives were saying, or the two boys plotting what exhibits they wanted to visit first. He was too busy concentrating on another family, this one also of three children. _They look happy,_ Harry thought. _They don't have a Dark Lord seeking their destruction, a potential Goblin rebellion to plan for, or a nation to drag out of the shadows and into the light._

Harry numbly followed the Dursleys around the zoo, occasionally taking real notice of one of the animals. The lions garnered the most attention from him. He wasn't really here for enjoyment, and knew that his punishment that evening would be more severe if he looked like he was.

Then they trooped into the reptile house. Harry instantly went on alert, as he could understand the hissing around him. He had discovered his affinity for Parseltongue some time before.

_Harry crept along the shadows of the forest, stalking his prey. His teacher, Oreius, was quite a taskmaster when it came to hunting. "It is the best way to learn how to track a target, remain unseen, and practice your aim young wizard," the Centaur had once said._

_His target that morning was a deer, which would be served to the herd for the evening meal. He spotted it. He slowly reached back, silently pulled out an arrow, and nocked it. He took careful aim. Then he heard a hiss to one side. He ignored it, as he did many things, but his prey did not. The deer galloped away, too fast for Harry to actually make a good shot._

_He turned to the side, wondering what had spooked the deer. There in the grass slithered a snake. -_Ṩ-Why does the brown one always take my mates? Why won't he just leave me and mine alone?_ -_Ṩ-_ It took Harry a moment to realize that the snake was actually talking. _

Ṩ-Why did you have to interrupt my hunt? What have I ever done to you?_-_Ṩ-_ Harry hissed back. The Serpent looked at him, surprised. -_Ṩ-A Speaker? Now that's rare. I've never met a Speaker before._-_Ṩ- _Harry was still pissed at the belly-crawler, and angrily told it off for spooking his prey. _Ṩ-I apologize, Speaker. I hadn't realized you were on the hunt._-_Ṩ- _Then the snake slithered off, and Harry went to hunt down another deer._

Harry shook off the reminiscences, wondering why he was so nostalgic today. Then he saw his cousin tapping hard on the glass cage of one of the larger snakes in the room. The creature looked bored with it, not even bothering about the large pink thing interrupting its nap. Dudley quickly lost interest in the python, and went off to look at something else.

_-Ṩ-I apologize for my cousin's behavior,-Ṩ-_ Harry hissed at the snake. _-Ṩ-I get that quite a lot, actually. The name's Monty.-Ṩ-_ He continued talking with the large serpent until he heard his cousin yell about the snake actually doing something.

Harry crashed to the ground with a grunt as Dudley pushed him out of the way in his eagerness to look at an active reptile. Harry momentarily forgot his control, and the glass in the case disappeared. Dudley fell in, yelling in fright. The snake slipped out of the cage, hissed its thanks to Harry, and slithered off, play hissing at the other humans and laughing at their fear.

Harry smiled his first smile of the day. His cousin had gotten trapped in the serpent's former habitat, and begun banging on the glass, screaming for his parents. Harry tried to get out, but then his uncle yanked him to his feet and hissed in his ear. "This is your doing, Freak. Dudley gets three hours with you tonight."

***Scene Break***

The next morning, Harry was still a little sore from being chased all over the back yard by his cousin for 'setting a python on my precious Dudders.' His master had sent through a small box of extra healing potions, and Harry had wasted no time in applying them as needed once he got thrown into his cupboard.

"Get up, Boy! Don't spoil the breakfast! You won't ruin today like you did yesterday, Freak!" _Oh joy, I get to cook breakfast again._ Harry was quite pissed off at the Dursleys. He longed for the day that he could exercise his newfound lust for revenge. But he knew that was a ways off. He expected his Hogwarts letter would arrive within the next week, and was determined to save at least three letters for his campaign to get out from the situation Dumbledore arranged for him. _I don't know if he knows what goes on behind the closed door of Number 4, but he really should have come in to check on me at least once per year. If he spends too much time with his three jobs, sending a member of his Order to call would be enough. Just something expected of the guardian to an underage wizard. _

A slot in the front door audibly opened and closed. "Fetch the mail, Freak," Vernon ordered.

Knowing that tone well, Harry abandoned the two crusts of burned bread he had been given, and obeyed. He picked up the half-dozen letters off the floor. _Let's see: bill, bill, bill, letter from Mrs. Cravitz at number 13, bill, Hogwarts letter. Better not let them see this one._

He secreted the heavy parchment envelope with his name and exact address on it in his cupboard, then hurried into the kitchen and placed the rest in front of his uncle.

Over the next month, more Hogwarts letters had arrived daily. Harry was able to conceal about a dozen in his cupboard before they were discovered by someone other than him. At that point, his uncle flew into a rage and actually beat Harry bloody. He had never been more grateful for the ready supply of healing potions in his cupboard. Every day, more letters arrived than had the day before, and Harry knew that the Dursleys' patience would eventually run out.

Sure enough, on the day before his birthday, Vernon dragged all four of them into a boat, heading for some shack on an island in the middle of a lake. It had no electricity, no phone lines, no address, nothing to connect it to the outside world. "Finally! Those bloody birds will never find us here! Never!"

Despite the drastic change in environment, Harry was still conscripted to cook dinner. He didn't have much available for the job, but he did what he could. His Aunt gave him a look that may have been sympathy, but Harry had to ignore it, as usual.

As the clock ticked toward midnight, Harry sat awake by the dying fire, the sound of a storm in his ears. He knew that Dumbledore would have to have someone hand-deliver a letter. _Regardless of his true motivations, it would look too suspicious if the savior he's told everyone he's been caring for these ten years was prevented from attending Hogwarts by the family he arranged to do the work,_ the young wizard thought with a somewhat smug look. _I do hope he sends McGonagall, I'd love witnessing whatever she does to the Dursleys. Not to mention, I think she should see just how badly she screwed the goat on this one. 'Worst sort of muggles,' indeed; but why didn't you press him on it, or at the very least check up on me yourself?_

Harry drew a birthday cake in the dirt floor with eleven candles on it. _Happy birthday, Harry. I wish I didn't have to play this game anymore._ He blew the fake candles out. Then he heard a mighty crash. He turned to the door, wondering what had caused it. _Is this your messenger, Dumbledore?_

* * *

A/N: Certain elements of this chapter, including the characters of Elrond, Celebrian, and Arwen, are drawn from JRR Tolkien's Lord of the Rings.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The second bang upon the door brought Vernon and Petunia down from the bedroom they had taken, both in bathrobes. Vernon had in his hands a double-barreled break-action shotgun, furiously loading a pair of shells. _Oh please, let him shoot the messenger; then I can justify seeing him executed._ Harry knew that his wish would probably not be granted, and if it was McGonagall, she'd probably be dead before delivery.

The third bang broke the door off the frame, and it crashed to the floor with a thud. There in the doorway stood a gigantic figure. The lightening flashing behind him hid his face in shadow; to Harry's newly eleven-year-old mind, it looked very cool. He entered the hovel, but was so tall he had to stoop to fit through the opening. "Sorry 'bout tha,'" the figure said, reaching down to pick up the door and fit it back in the frame.

_If Gilderoy's information is correct, this must be Rubeus Hagrid_, Harry thought. The giant of a man certainly fit the description of the Hogwarts groundskeeper. He stood at about 11 and a half feet in height, weighed approximately 40 stone, and wore a very old and long-used coat. His face was surprisingly kind for a man of his size, even if his hair looked utterly uncivilized. _The perfect go-for for a wizard; he is spell-resistant, completely loyal, and more than a little slow in the mind. Who am I kidding, he hasn't changed much in near fifty years, if the stories I've heard are true._

The giant looked at Dudley cowering in a corner of the room, beamed at him, and said "Blimey, Harry! Yeh've grown up since I last saw yeh. Yeh could fit in the palm o' me hand, back then."

The killer whale posing as a human being simply tried to make himself smaller in an effort to escape the attention of the monstrous man before him. He failed miserably. Knowing that his time had come, Harry interjected "Actually, sir, I'm Harry." The giant looked at the much smaller boy, and boomed "Well o'course yeh are! Ooh, I got somat for yeh."

He then started rummaging through the many pockets in the great coat he wore. Harry gently inquired "Excuse me, sir, but who exactly are you?"

"Oh! I've gone an' forgot'n me manners! The name's Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. 'Course, you'll know all 'bout Hogwarts."

Harry mentally listed the newly-confirmed Hagrid under 'Useful Idiots,' and told him that he didn't know about Hogwarts.

"Don't know 'bout Hogwarts! Where do yeh think they learned it all?" The young wizard resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Learned all _what_?"

Hagrid finally seemed to register that the child in front of him wasn't understanding it at all, _or at least has to pretend he doesn't,_ and said those four little words that Harry knew were coming.

"Yer a wizard, Harry."

He acted stunned. "I'm a _what_?"

After that, Harry kind of zoned out, just going through the motions he had rehearsed with his master. Hagrid produced a Hogwarts letter and handed it to Harry, before pulling out a quill, ink, and a piece of parchment to write a note, presumably to Dumbledore. _Why am I not surprised he's pulling an owl out of his pocket?_ Harry read the envelope, just so he could see where wizards would say he was.

_Mr. H Potter_

_The Shack on the Rock_

_The Sea_

His curiosity sated, Harry opened it and read the actual letter.

_Dear Mr. Potter,_

_We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Term begins on September 1. Enclosed is a list of the required uniform and supplies for first years. We await your owl no later than August 1._

_Yours Sincerely_

_Professor M. McGonagall_

_Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts_

The list had everything he had expected on it. The wand struck him as somewhat frivolous, given that he could perform magic without one easily, but he knew that he would need to appear to rely on it to keep his enemies in the dark. Plus, wands could cast spells much more efficiently than a wizard could without one. There is a reason, after all, why witches and wizards are typically pictured with some kind of stick that they obviously use to perform magic.

He came out of his musing when he heard his cousin squeal like a pig. Sure enough, a curled, porcine tail poked through the back of Dudley's pajama pants. _Well, he did get expelled in third year. I couldn't really expect the half-giant to complete a human-to-pork transfiguration, even if there is not much difference anyway._ He struggled to keep his thoughts contained in his head.

His uncle did not. "Now see here! He will not be going to this school of yours!" Petunia seemed in agreement with her husband, but Harry could see the signs of fear he had come to expect. "I don' see how a pair o' great muggles like yeh could stop 'im. This boy's had his name down ever since he was born. He'll be goin' to the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world and he'll be under the greatest 'eadmaster the Hogwarts has ever seen, Albus Dumbledore." Vernon either did not see the half-giant in front of him, or he had dredged up some heretofore undiscovered courage. "I will not pay to have some crackpot old fool teach him magic tricks!"

Harry supposed he should feel a twinge of sympathy for his uncle. _What the bloody hell? Rip him apart, Hagrid!_ "Never insult Albus Dumbledore in front of me!" The half-giant didn't really yell, but Vernon flinched as if he had when a hand the size of a dustbin lid wrenched the firearm out of his grip. He even seemed to whimper when he got it back, tied like a bowline.

"Come on, Harry. I've got me a room down at the Leaky Cauldron. It'll be more comfortable than sleepin' on the ground here."

***Scene Break***

The next morning, Harry woke up. He luxuriated in the bed for a moment until he was interrupted by a tapping on the window. He got up, let the owl in, and then woke Hagrid up to deal with paying the five Knuts for the paper. "Jes' pay 'im five o' the little copper ones. I've got some in me coat pocket." As the large man read that day's issue of the Daily Prophet, Harry scanned it for active magic. _Thank you for the Occlumency training, master. I'd be a drooling idiot in five months reading that every day! I wonder why no-one has ever had it tested for mind-altering enchantments?_

Gilderoy's information was once again quite good. The paper had been layered in so much magic that Harry didn't think it possible for anyone to disbelieve anything they read in it unless they had personal experience to contradict it.

To conceal his thinking, and play up his ignorant muggle-raised wizard role, Harry asked Hagrid about the bronze coins he had removed from Hagrid's tent-sized covering. He received a reasonably complete description of wizarding currency.

Then they went downstairs. Harry really dreaded this part. Gilderoy had trained him in how to handle crowds, and Harry had received a fair amount of practice as the adopted son of the head of the White Council and prince of the Alliance of Free Peoples. But if he displayed any such skill today, he would show Voldemort, and any other aspiring dark lords out there, that he was not a mere pawn, incapable of thinking for himself.

_He was bored. _Why does Master Gilderoy always drag me to these meetings?_ He knew, intellectually, that he would one day be the face of the political, economic, and military alliance between wizards, Elves, Dwarves, and certain Fae. That didn't mean he had to like it or wrap his emotions around it._

_The one thing he was glad for was the presence of the Elven representative, Elrond of Rivendell. Harry always looked forward to the letters he received from the graceful lord. Even the millennia-length age difference couldn't get in the way of Harry forming a friendship with him. _

_"__The Goblins have been quiet for centuries. Apart from a few isolated incidents in Britain, they have shown no desire to launch another of their wars. I still don't know why you Brits won't just open up your financial markets. You wouldn't be jumping at shadows if you hadn't handed those beasts control over your economy on a silver platter." The American wizards, like this Representative Clinton, had never really gotten past their isolationism. And they had never had to deal with Goblins in their own country; the near-demons had never moved to the New World like wizards had._

_"__I highly doubt the Goblins have given up on exterminating the rest of us," Thorin, King Under the Mountain said. "They may not be very smart, but they certainly can be cunning. They're probably just biding their time, building up their forces, looking for the right moment to strike." Dwarves, on the other hand, had had intimate (and violent) dealings with Goblins over the centuries, and Harry knew they held grudges more easily than they did beards._

_His master chose that moment to intervene. "Gentle-beings, please! We don't know what the Goblins are planning, but it would be the height of stupidity for us to discount the possibility. Given their nature, they will strike at one or all of us eventually, and we must be ready for them. I think our best course of action is to increase the strength and frequency of patrols along the borders of Goblin territory. That should give us the warning we need to mobilize the Alliance Army before any of our citizens are butchered."_

_Elrond lent his support to the British wizard's plan. "It would be wise to remain vigilant, and not just because of the nature of Goblins. The British wizarding world has become weak in the near two hundred years since the last Rebellion. The Goblins likely see this too, and will not be able to resist the urge to slaughter for long."_

_The discussion went back and forth for another hour and a half, by Harry's reckoning. Eventually, the Council decided that the first step should be the increased patrols. The second fell to Harry himself. "Young Lord Potter, you will wield great power and influence in wizarding Britain. If it is to survive whatever the Goblins have planned, its people must be prepared. If you are to stop the decline, let alone restore their will and power, we have but one choice: You must attend Hogwarts and build yourself up as a new Leader of the Light. Albus Dumbledore may have done great things, but he is only one man working three full-time jobs himself."_

Harry snapped back to the waking world just in time for his enormous companion to introduce him to a Professor Quirinus Quirrel. He shook the man's hand quickly, unable to pin down the feeling of darkness radiating from him. He was careful not to let any of his suspicion show on his face. _No sense in putting him on guard if he is out to kill me_.

Hagrid then took his shoulder and steered him out to the back of the pub, pulled out his pink umbrella, and tapped a brick in the wall three times. That space then expanded to form a decorative archway. "Welcome, Harry, to Diagon Alley!"

***Scene Break***

Four hours of surly Goblin tellers, arrogant blond twits, and passers-by staring at his scar, later, Harry had everything on his Hogwarts list save for his wand. He was to acquire this one alone, as an experience like this should only be shared with family members.

He entered Ollivander's wand shop. A bell tinkled above his left shoulder, announcing his arrival. Harry felt more than heard the wandcrafter sneaking up on him. _I really wish that I could spin 'round, send him sprawling to the floor, and say in my gravelliest voice 'Don't try that again, punk.' But Gilderoy was unable to get a good read on this wizard, and Ollivander is too well-connected to antagonize so quickly. At least until I learn how to make my own wands, of course._

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I've been expecting you. I remember when your parents walked into my shop for their wands. Your father's was mahogany and Unicorn hair; pliable and excellent for Transfiguration. Your mother's was Willow and Dragon heartstring, better for Charm work. Let's see what you'll have. Which is your wand hand?"

What followed was an annoying two hours for Harry. None of the wands he tried worked. Ollivander seemed to enjoy it; Harry thought that he lived for this kind of thing, the hunt for that one elusive wand that that fit the wizard above all others. The more wands he went through, the more excited the old man became. "I wonder… Try this one. Holly and Phoenix feather, one of my more unusual creations."

Harry tried it. It connected with his magic easily, but then leaped out of his hand. Ollivander seemed puzzled by that. He picked it up and examined it for a few minutes. "Eureka!" the old wandcrafter shouted. "This is the wand for you, but it's not powerful enough to handle the amount of magic you have at your disposal. Come into the back. We must select the ingredients for the necessary enhancements. I haven't done this in many years, so exciting!"

Harry followed the elderly wandcrafter into what was clearly a workshop. He felt certain protections pass over him like a curtain, and his eyes widened at the strength behind them. His reaction drew a slight nod of approval from Ollivander. _I understand that a wandcrafter's skill is rare in Magical Britain, so powerful wards are quite in order, but surely he wouldn't use them to judge the potential of new wizards, would he?_ Harry mused.

Ignorant of his young customer's thoughts, Ollivander began bustling about the workshop. Harry saw shelf after shelf of wood blocks, jars of assorted ingredients, and even crystals and gemstones. There weren't that many of the last group, but they were there. Oddly, it looked less irrational and more organized than he expected all to be. "Not many customers enter here, Mr. Potter. Not many need to. But you are an unusually powerful wizard, and only an unusually powerful wand will do for you. Please close your eyes and feel the magic in this room. Let your own interact with it. I can follow the connections to find the specific materials for your wand."

Two more hours later, Harry walked out of the establishment with his new wand. Holly and Elder were mixed for the wood, the core composed of a Phoenix feather, Thestral tail hair, and powered Griffin Claw, and a single emerald focusing crystal embedded in the tip. Harry had even channeled the power of the Resurrection Stone on his right ring finger into it, making it as strong as the Elder Wand itself. _"This is one of my finest creations, Mr. Potter. I think we can expect great things from you. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things. Terrible things, yes, but great."_

Harry was most impressed with the quality of work. It practically sang in his hand, and he could feel his own magic pulse with it. _Now I know why Ollivander is so popular_, he thought. _Even if few wizards receive custom crafted wands, it would be very hard for said great wizards to conceal the nature of said wands._ Harry then, with the elderly man's permission, replaced the true memory with one of Harry buying the unaltered Holly and Phoenix feather wand. Both wizards had agreed that the kind of power Harry's wand contained would draw many seeking to kill him for it, much like the Elder Wand itself.

Hagrid had not wasted those four hours. He met Harry with a snowy white owl as a birthday present. The young wizard acted as if he had never received one of those before, and thanked the half-giant profusely.

***Scene Break***

That evening, Harry walked into his new bedroom at Number 4. After Vernon had calmed down from finding that first letter, his intelligence (otherwise known as his wife) kicked in and told him that wizards considered muggles like him no better than animals, to be killed at will, and that they would not hesitate to do so if they found him abusing one of their own.

So they defied Dudley and gave Harry what was once the baby whale's spare bedroom, filled with the detritus of a boy who got bored easily. Harry had already enchanted a portal to his room in his master's fortress in his closet, which he could walk through in either direction for any reason. It was much more convenient for all parties involved, which was part of the reason he'd done it in the first place.

The young wizard had also replicated much of what he'd done for his cupboard. The room was now nine times its original size, and had space for a bedroom, separate office, and dojo for his morning exercises.

He had also implemented security for his new space; again, much like he had for his former sleeping room. The door had a passive ward schema to prevent his relatives from realizing how much more space he had and entering without an invite (which Harry was determined never to issue). The active portion would give him time to escape through the portal, but he didn't put much effort into it, as he didn't anticipate needing that given the strength of the existing protections. He didn't really have much power for such things, but the blood wards provided the efficiency he needed to make his defenses work.

Harry examined his list of things to do. Every item under 'Pre-Hogwarts' was checked off. Harry turned to the calendar he had hung next to his desk in the office area. _Look out Hogwarts. Here I come!_

* * *

A/N: Once again, I drew inspiration for parts of this chapter from the Lord of the Rings. The line that reflects the one in the Fellowship of the Ring was just too delicious not to include.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Harry woke up at dawn on the first of September. He was finally rejoining British wizarding society, after ten years of effective exile. The trials he and his master had prepared feverishly for were about to begin. _But first,_ Harry thought, _breakfast._

Harry read over the last letter from Hermione, dated two weeks prior. She had gotten just as excited as he had in the last month.

_Dear Harry,_

_I can't wait for September 1! We're about to start learning honest to God magic! I didn't even think this was possible. Most importantly, I'll finally be able to talk to you in person every day! I've read all our course books, of course. Have you? Of course you have; you're just like me in that regard. Am I rambling? Sorry, but I'm just so excited!_

_See you on the Express!_

_Your friend,_

_Hermione_

Harry placed her letter back in the box where he kept all of their correspondence, closed it, and packed it in his trunk. He had everything ready for the journey to King's Cross station; the only things he had left out of his trunk and travel furniture were those things he would be wearing between leaving Privet Drive and arriving in his dorm at Hogwarts.

At ten minutes before eleven, Harry lifted his trunk out of Vernon's car, still playing the downtrodden serving boy. His uncle did exactly as expected and raced off as soon as he could, perhaps hoping that Harry wouldn't be able to get where he was going and never darken his doorstep again. Harry snorted to himself. _I'm a hero to the wizarding world, as if I'd let myself be late._

He loaded his trunk on one of the trolleys outside the station, and entered King's Cross. Having purchased a large number of other books in Diagon Alley, outside Hagrid's gaze, he already knew how to get to the platform. _I may not be supposed to appear that smart, but even a hero must display a modicum of intelligence. People would never put their faith in anyone that seemed incompetent._

He strode purposefully toward the third of four pillars between platforms 9 and 10. He saw in the corner of his eye a family of redheads, who he swiftly identified as the Weasleys. He listed them off in his head, trying to pin down their loyalties. He had a sneaking suspicion that they were firmly in Dumbledore's camp, given that the parents were part of the Order of the Phoenix in the First Blood War, and he _still_ wasn't sure whether the Headmaster would support or oppose him. The oldest son present, number three if he remembered correctly, was a sycophant liable to get caught up by whoever advanced his cause the farthest. _Unreliable at best, dangerous at worst; avoid if possible_. He made the same general assessment of the youngest boy and the girl.

The twin boys, however, had a certain look about them. He'd seen it previously on a pair of young Elves. _Pranksters, I'll wager. That means that they will be amenable to keeping secrets and acting from the shadows. They bear watching; I may be able to bring them into my camp._

The next moment, Harry was on the other side of the barrier, looking at the red and black train emblazoned with the name "Hogwarts Express." He found an empty compartment in the middle of the train, deposited his trunk inside it, and then warded the entrance so only he and those he invited could enter. He hadn't seen Hermione yet, but it wasn't hard to deduce that she would have arrived early. He really wanted to sit with her; she was the only person on the train he knew.

Hermione found him barely two minutes after starting his search. She had a boy trailing after her, who looked like he had some self-esteem issues. Knowing that he had a whole eight hours to unravel the mystery of this blond and pudgy boy, he turned and hugged his best friend.

"Harry! It's so good to see you! This is Neville Longbottom. He's a first year too. Can he sit with us?" She said that in one breath. Harry lifted her up and twirled her around before setting her gently on the floor. "Of course he can, Hermione. I've got a compartment picked out; it's roughly in the middle of the train."

Harry turned his attention to Longbottom. "I'm Harry Potter. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Longbottom." The two young wizards shook hands, even if Neville had gotten a little star-struck at the name.

Harry led the other two down to his compartment and showed them in. "I've invited a few other people to join us on this first voyage. They'll be here shortly." He helped the others stow their trunks in the storage area, sat down on one of the benches and pulled Hermione down next to him. She blushed a bit at his treatment, but said nothing of it. Neville took a seat opposite them.

Soon after the train started moving, four witches and two wizards entered the compartment. They all looked like first years.

"Welcome! Let's get to know one another. As I am the only one here who knows everyone else, let's start with introductions: I'm Harry Potter. The pretty witch to my left is Hermione Granger, my best friend." The others in the compartment gave their names as Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot, Daphne Greengrass, Lisa Turpin, Ernie Macmillan, and Michael Corner. Harry pulled out his bag of candies and passed it around. He had spent quite a bit of time getting the recipe right, but the effort had paid off. Each candy was a Patronus charm caught in sugar crystals; anyone who ate one would get a burst of good-feeling _enough to make a tyrant feel a saint, for a moment, _Harry mused.

The conversation was lively, and Harry thought it would definitely serve his purpose. _Ernie, Susan, and Hannah are shoe-ins for Hufflepuff, which gives me that house. Lisa and Michael both seem smart enough for Ravenclaw, so they can support my arguments there. Daphne is pure Slytherin; I'll have to watch for her even as I support her efforts to dominate the house of cunning and ambition. I will go into Gryffindor, as any would expect of a hero. Hermione will follow me, as she always has. Neville is the only one I can't pin down. He'll either be a Lion or a Badger. Either way, I can use him._

As the others turned to subjects he had no interest in, Harry replayed the memory of his master helping him plan for his grand return to the wizarding world.

_"__You will have at least one enemy at Hogwarts: Severus Snape. What information I've been able to piece together tells me he is a spiteful and vicious man, and he will no doubt attempt to do you harm and every opportunity. The Headmaster may or may not be friendly to you; there is such a balance of evidence that it could go either way."_

_Harry replied, thoughtfully "I've seen that myself. I think the biggest question is how the Death Eaters found the Longbottom's Secret Keeper. If he arranged it, or knew about it beforehand and let it happen, he's an enemy. But, like you said, there is no conclusive evidence either way." _

_His master then asked him what he would need to let filter back to the potentially-Dark Headmaster if he actually was Dark. "I need to make it appear that I've read my own legend and decided to emulate it. He's essentially given me all the tools I need to look like the perfect pawn. The fictional Boy-Who-Lived is powerful, rich, and influential on the one hand, but dim-witted and completely devoted to Dumbledore on the other. But I have to do more. If he has the time to focus solely upon me, the disguise will unravel quickly. I have to find a way to keep him off balance."_

_Harry then paused, thinking of how he might go about that. A bright idea popped into his head. "Can you convince some squibs to establish a Kentucky Fried Chicken franchise in Hogsmeade? I just had the most brilliant idea for a villain to keep the Twinkling Tyrant's gaze fixed upon something other than me."_

His plan was genius. Then a certain blond twit and his two goons got in the way.

Said stooge was predictable to the extreme, true to Harry's impression of him from Madam Malkin's. He wandered by the compartment, opened the door without any sort of propriety, and tried to muscle his way in with his two gorilla-like bodyguards.

"I've heard Harry Potter is on the train. I'm Draco Malfoy."

Knowing that he had a fine line to walk, Harry responded politely. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Malfoy. I am indeed Harry Potter. Mind you, I have heard some rather disturbing rumors about your father. I don't like associating with known or suspected Death Eaters, or those connected with them without reasonable assurance that they won't follow that path. What kind of message would it send if I did otherwise? It would set my mind at ease if I could be sure that you would never fall in with the same sort of people or commit such atrocities."

While speaking, Harry used his expert skill at Legilimency to determine whether Malfoy was going to be a threat to him. He wasn't. _No skill, no particular degree of cunning, just a blindly devoted pureblood bigot._ He also shook Draco's hand, slipping an enchanted listening device into the boy's pocket. The work was done so smoothly, Harry didn't think that he could be discovered by any but the most intensive of investigations.

Malfoy was furious, as Harry expected. The argument was loud, confusing, and sent Draco and his quite empty-headed goons stomping off down the train, fuming in what they evidently thought to be a hushed tone. Harry chuckled. _These idiots are going to be most entertaining in the next seven years. Now, how to stop them from truly becoming a threat?_

***Scene Break***

Several hours later, the train began to slow down. Harry had erected a barrier so that everyone could change into their school robes without stepping into the corridor earlier. He felt confident that his initial efforts to build a coalition around him were successful. The foundation for the group he was hoping would become his inner circle was laid. The Hufflepuffs were firmly in his camp, and they were not very subtle at all about that. The Ravenclaws seemed swayed by his arguments. Logic would always be important to the house of the intelligent. The Slytherin was the only one he still had certain concerns with.

Everyone seemed more excited, and the young wizard could certainly understand that. They were less than an hour away from their home for the next nine months. When the train finally stopped, the group of first years left their compartment and hopped off the train. Harry didn't like the feeling of leaving his trunk behind, where anyone could search it, but he had all of his more valuable and necessary possessions on his person.

Harry and his new friends followed Hagrid, who was guiding the first years on their traditional boat ride across the lake, up the steps from the castle's hidden dock. Everyone was excited about their first taste of Hogwarts, and wondering how they'd be sorted. Harry already knew, but he still chuckled at some of the more outlandish suggestions. Hagrid handed them over to Professor McGonagall in the side chamber near the Great Hall. She gave the typical speech about what to expect at Hogwarts, then left the first years to themselves.

Ron Weasley muscled his way next to Harry. "Oi, Harry! Where've ya been, mate?" _Hiding from you,_ Harry thought. But he simply said "I didn't know you were looking for me. I'm Harry Potter. And you are…?"

He knew that he had to stay polite to Ronald Weasley, if for no other reason than to keep his reputation as a hero. It simply wouldn't do to call people immature idiots, or anything else, unless he wanted negative press about his character to start circulating. So he continued his conversation with the red-haired boy, bringing in his friends in to make it less intolerable.

When they walked into the Great Hall, it was as magnificent as the books he'd read said it would be. Gilderoy remembered it fondly himself. _I wonder what happens to all the wax from those candles,_ he thought. _Ah, runic Vanishing Charm set to area effect along a plane just under the lowest candle._ Harry once again thanked Merlin that he had taken the time to enchant his glasses to see magic he wanted to see and filter out other things.

The Sorting Hat sang his song, which Harry vowed never to repeat, and the Sorting began. Hannah Abbot, Susan Bones, and Ernie MacMillan went to Hufflepuff, as he expected. Michael Corner joined Ravenclaw. Daphne Greengrass was cast into the snake pit. Hermione followed her courageous heart into Gryffindor, and to Harry's surprise, so did Neville Longbottom. _Now I must join her there. I am the hero, after all._

When his name was called, Harry strode confidently forward and sat on the stool with a level of ease learned from his constant training with one of the greatest celebrities in the wizarding world. The Hat was placed upon his head. _'Now then, Mr. Potter, where do I put you?'_ Harry put forth his plan before the magical artifact. _'A plot worthy of Salazar himself.' _

_But that would not serve my purpose. What truly cunning man would let himself be identified as such, by getting sorted into a house known for stabbing allies in the back? _

_'__I haven't heard that argument for a long time, Mr. Potter. You show the reason of Ravenclaw.' _

_Ravenclaws don't have the heroic reputation I need to execute my plans. What I have already in that regard would be damaged by the perceived cowardice of those who choose to think too much. You will put me in Gryffindor. Resistance is futile._

Needless to say, the Hat made him a lion.

Happy with not being separated from his best friend, Harry went to join her at the table with the red and gold decorations. She hugged him when he sat down next to her, sharing the joy.

Lisa Turpin was sorted into Ravenclaw, where she sat down next to Corner. His master's training in how to read people had already paid off handsomely. _Now, if I could just find some way of fixing Greengrass on my side. She will undoubtedly be important, but I don't want her taking advantage of me or any of my other friends. Hmm…this needs some more thought._

The rest of the Feast was fairly boring for Harry. The first thing of interest to him was Snape trying to pry into his head. Harry let him see the largely-manufactured persona of the Boy Who Lived. The second was a sense that Quirrel, who he recognized from Diagon Alley, was more than he seemed. Harry resolved to keep an eye on him. The third was Dumbledore's announcement that a corridor on the third floor was out of bounds due to deadly danger. _It's a trap! Honestly, how obvious could you possibly be, Dumbles?_

When the Headmaster called for the Prefects to lead the new students to the dorms, Harry stayed close to Hermione, chatting about what their classes might be like. Neville joined in, even if he was less excited about academics than Hermione. Ron Weasley had been sorted into Gryffindor too, and like Harry had predicted in his head, the boy was proving a lazy menace.

The group of ten students, six wizards and four witches, arrived at a portrait of a fat lady. Harry knew that she had a name, but Gilderoy had told him he had been the first to bother learning it in nearly two centuries. "Caput Draconis," said the Prefect leading them. _Another Weasley; this one seems pompous and probably a dedicated brown-noser. He sounds exactly as I thought he would._

The common room was decked out in red and gold drapes. The chairs and sofas near the fireplaces in the room were likewise red and gold. Even the floor was carpeted in red and gold. The Weasley prefect sent the first years up to their dorms straight away, telling them only that they were expected to be at breakfast at 7:30 AM the next day.

His first evening at Hogwarts coming to a close, Harry reflected on his plan. _Step one, lay the foundations for my inner circle of advisors and under-managers. Step two, build a solid network with the general student body. A study group would seem to be the best bet. Step three, infiltrate the vaults down below and identify everything within. Thank you for those miniature golems, master._ He felt a twinge as the runes he'd set on the listening device started feeding information to his mind. _And so it begins._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Harry woke up to a ray of sunshine on his face. He had closed the curtains of his four-poster bed before sleeping, but apparently not securely enough. _If someone had tried to open them, not only would they trigger my alarms, they would probably have a number of nasty bruises from my fists._

He finished his routine at about 7:05. Every morning at Hogwarts, he had decided to trek to the Room of Requirement and furnish himself with an exact replica of the gymnasium he used back in the fortified capital of the Atlantean Freehold. He had to keep in shape somehow, and given that he had no arrangements with the Centaurs in the Forbidden Forest, he couldn't exactly go for his typical 5k run among the trees as he liked. He added 'Contact the Hogwarts' Centaur tribes-negotiate access to Reserve for physical training' to his mental To Do list, wondering what he could offer to convince them to give him that.

He walked down the stairs from the Gryffindor Tower boys' dorm with a book under his arm. He wanted to get some last-minute reading in before breakfast. _Given the title, this should be enough for anyone watching to logically conclude that I have decided to emulate the legend he established for me. And this idiot is just too funny; not like that mudnit behind _Harry Potter and the Naughty Nundu_._ _That is NOT how you tell a story!_

Hermione joined him on the sofa within minutes, and dragged him away from the exhilarating tale of Harry besting a clan of Vampires who lived in the sewers of London.

"Good morning, Harry! Our first day at Hogwarts! I can't wait to begin learning magic properly! I wonder what class we'll have first? I hope it's Transfiguration; that strikes me as the most interesting subject for first years. I re-read our book for that class just this last week, it's so fascinating! What do you think Harry?"

The young wizard chuckled at Hermione's habit of saying a whole paragraph's worth of words without a single pause for breath. "I don't know, yet. I think they hand out our schedules at breakfast on the first day. Why else would they insist upon being in the Great Hall by a specified time?"

"But what class do you think will be most interesting?" the cute witch pressed.

"Of the subjects we have as first years, the one that interests me most is Potions," Harry replied. "But I overheard some of the older boys celebrating how they can avoid the professor now that they have their O.W.L.s, so I don't know how that class will go. The one I think would be most useful is Charms. Neville said that the professor, one Filius Flitwick, is a genius in that field, and I can't help but wonder what he'll teach us."

The two best friends kept up their conversation all the way down to breakfast. They both enjoyed the food, even if they found it less healthy than they would have preferred.

Sure enough, their head of House handed out their class schedules at 7:30 on the dot. Only one student was late for that, and Harry was not surprised at all by who it was. "I do hope they don't pair me with that youngest Weasley too often. He doesn't seem to be the brightest bulb in the box, and I don't want his laziness to rub off on me." Hermione agreed wholeheartedly.

The Headmaster had not joined them for their first meal of the day. Harry observed the staff talking about it, thanking his master for the Fidelius-protected long-range listening devices and the mental enhancements so he could process two separate audio feeds at once.

_"__I don't believe Albus has ever missed breakfast. Have you ever seen such a thing, Minerva?" _The Deputy Headmistress responded negatively, _"No, I haven't. Then again, he did get that letter from the Minister, so he's probably influencing votes. It's quite unusual to get a letter at that time of night; it must have been quite urgent."_

Pomona Sprout nodded. _"He works so hard for our world. Sometimes I wish he would just pick one of his three full-time jobs and do that one really well."_ Professor Flitwick looked thoughtful, and a bit disturbed, if Harry was reading the part-Goblin Charms Master correctly. _"I do hope I'm wrong, but this unknown matter might touch on something very dangerous. He did, after all, bring that _item_ into the castle; there must be a reason for that."_

Harry thought back to his last briefing on the legal goings-on in Wizarding Britain. _I can't think of a single issue that might get such a reaction from that man. I wonder if Gilderoy has heard anything since about it? If not, the warning will be necessary, and may get some useful information._

Hermione got her wish; the Gryffindor first-years trooped up the staircase to the second floor and the Transfiguration classroom. Harry and Hermione were the first two students there, and both chose desks in the front row. A tabby cat sat on the edge of the professor's desk. Harry thought he recognized it as McGonagall's Animagus form. _Three Knuts she uses this to impress her students on their first day and let latecomers know that such tardiness will not be tolerated._ The other students filed in over the next few minutes, no doubt that some had trouble navigating the castle's ever-changing staircases. When they sat down, they noticed the writing on the chalkboard, instructing them to begin reading the introduction of the textbook. When the bell rang, there were still three empty seats, and sure enough, the tabby seemed to be waiting for the stragglers to find the classroom.

Fully five minutes after the bell, the door flew open in the face of three Gryffindor students. One, Harry recognized as Ronald Weasley. The other two were their other roommates Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. "Thank Merlin the teacher's late too," Weasley breathed in relief.

As if that had been her queue, the tabby leapt off the desk and transformed into the stern face and tight bun of their Transfiguration Professor. "You are late, Mr. Weasley, Mr. Finnegan, Mr. Thomas. That will be six points from Gryffindor. Perhaps I should transfigure one of you into a pocket watch? That way the other two might be on time."

Finnegan responded in his Irish brogue "We got lost, Professor."

"Then perhaps a map? I trust you don't need one to find your seats."

***Scene Break***

That Friday, the Gryffindor first-years looked at their schedules and saw that they had a double period of Potions that morning. They all, save Harry and Hermione, groaned. Each one of them had spoken to at least one older Lion that week and heard nothing but horror stories about Professor Severus Snape, who taught Potions.

Harry and the others descended the stairs into the dungeons after breakfast with more than a little apprehension. Harry wondered how hard Snape would try to insult Hermione. _The greasy bat will undoubtedly target me immediately. I am the son of the schoolyard nemesis he never bested, and that man has no inclination to let bygones be bygones. I just hope he doesn't go at Hermione; she doesn't have my skill at Occlumency yet._ He suspected that Snape would likely want to keep him downtrodden and abused, whatever his reason for it, and decided to find out.

The Potions Master banged the door open at the bell and stalked into the room, his robes billowing behind him as if someone had cursed him with unending flatulence. He sniffed, _what am I thinking? If the bat is breaking wind, I'd never smell it in here with all the Potions ingredients and their odours._

"There will be no silly wand-waving in this class, so put them away! You are here to learn the subtle art and exact science of potion making. I can teach to brew fame, bottle glory, even put a stopper in death." He then pulled out a roll of parchment and began taking attendance. He sneered at Harry's name, as the young wizard expected.

"Potter! Our new celebrity. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of Asphodel to an infusion of Wormwood?"

Harry of course new the answer, but he had to hold up his mask of being rather dim, academically. "I don't know sir."

"Apparently fame isn't everything." Snape sneered, seemingly pleased. Harry looked the overgrown bat in the eye, slipping into his mind without even a flicker of notice to snoop around. _Interesting, he owed my father a life debt, which seems to have been compounded since his death. I think I need some more information on this._ Snape didn't notice his mind was being penetrated, as he was too focused on looking at the manufactured persona of the abused boy who decided to emulate his own legend which Harry had left completely undefended. It was expected that he would have not Occlumency defenses to protect him, so he had to appear to have none.

"Where would you look if I asked you to find me a Bezoar, Potter?"

Once again, Harry paused, as if thinking. "I don't know sir."

Snape's lips curled upwards in a cruel smile. _Or rather, the parody of a smile that the evil at heart are limited to,_ Harry reminded himself. Snape didn't show enough of a soul to actually experience the true happiness required to truly smile.

"Tut, tut, Potter. Let's try again. What is the difference between Monkshood and Wolfsbane?" This time, Harry did answer.

"I don't think there is a difference, sir. Aren't they the same plant?"

The Potions Master's face fell, and became more angry. He clearly didn't like the target of his abuse showing any amount of backbone, even if the answer was phrased in the same somewhat subservient tone of voice from before. "Five points from Gryffindor for asking impertinent questions, Potter."

Then he turned to the room at large. "In the next three hours, you will attempt to brew a Cure for Boils. The instructions are on the board." He flicked his wand, and they appeared on the black surface, written in chalk. "There will be no need to talk."

The rest of the class passed as Harry expected it to. He had partnered with Hermione to produce the Boil Curing Paste Snape had written the formula for on the board. They were both very good at following directions, and at the end of the period, they had a perfectly-brewed potion. Harry ladled out four vials of it, and labeled one for submission to their professor. He pocketed two, and slipped the fourth into Hermione's bag, if she ever needed it.

Harry and his housemates climbed out of the dungeons with great relief. Their first class on Potions had been horrible. Hermione was astounded that someone as clearly vindictive and unqualified was allowed to teach. "I'd actually call that anti-teaching! It's as if he deliberately designs to destroy our educations in that subject!" she fumed. Harry couldn't help but agree, and add that Snape seemed to have an unhealthy interest in himself.

***Scene Break***

After their final class that day, Harry and Hermione strode into the Library to meet with their group of friends. When Harry told her that he'd be hosting a study club, she joined within seconds. She even helped him design the academic portions of the club. The one thing they couldn't agree on was the name; Harry wanted to name it the Knights of the Round Table, while Hermione favored the less-militaristic Mutual Academic Support Society, or MASS for short. Eventually, they had decided upon the name of 'The Order.' It was vague enough that they could do a lot of things.

Harry hadn't told her that the club was to be the core of his power base in wizarding Britain. She didn't yet have the Occlumency training to guard secrets of that magnitude. _That'll be the first thing that I set out to correct,_ Harry decided.

The nine first-years commandeered a table in the back of the Library and set all of their homework out on it. This was the structure that Harry and Hermione had planned. All members would do their homework, or portions of it, first thing every meeting; help would be given to any who needed it. This would be followed by Harry's special training regime. Two hours later, what little the professors had assigned was done.

Harry stood up. "Thank you all for joining us here today. As you know, this is a study club. But it is also more: The Order exists to help our members succeed, whatever they choose to do. One of the ways we will do this is to research skills and abilities beyond the normal wizard's set and teach them to each other. The first thing we absolutely must work on is Occlumency. For those who don't know yet, Occlumency is the defense of the mind against magical influence or penetration. If we are to safeguard the interests of The Order and each other, we must have this skill."

He then passed around copies of a book he had found on the Mind Arts. "This book contains the basics of Occlumency. Read it over the next week. Master the exercises within, and practice everything it tells you to. Until then, be careful not to meet Professor Snape or Professor Quirrel in the eye. I felt both of them attempt to enter my head this week."

Hermione was shocked. Harry had told her that there was a magical skill that functioned as mind-reading, but she had been less than diligent in practicing what he had taught her before. Harry could see her resolve to remedy that with the book firm up within her.

What he didn't tell anyone else was that the method he used with Hermione was superior to all others.

_They were five weeks away from going to Hogwarts. It was the last time that the two best friends could actually meet before the train, and they determined to take advantage of it. _

_"__I want to close your eyes and picture a single tongue of flame in your mind. Can you see it? Now feed every thought in your head to the flame, until there is nothing but the flame. Enact the Flame and the Void, as I told you in my letters."_

_Harry could see Hermione do it. When she reached the required state, he felt it more than saw it._

_"__This technique is useful for more than just controlling magic. You can use this for Occlumency. That is the only defense against the art called Legilimency. A user of this art can penetrate the minds of those around him, examine their thoughts and memories as if he were reading a book. If you are to have any privacy from those who employ this art, you must learn to repel them. Watch for pressure in your mind when meeting someone's eyes. That is your Occlumency telling you that someone is trying to read your mind, so you should avert your eyes until you know you can repel them."_

_Two hours later, the two preteens stopped their mental exercises. They started for the water fountain. "That is exhausting, Harry. How long do you have to maintain it?"_

_Harry looked at his best friend. "I maintain it even now. Eventually, you will be able to enter the Flame and the Void outside a meditative state and keep it up all the time. You'll need to work hard to get there, and it may take you a year or two, but I think you'll enjoy the results."_

As the other members of the group read the book he had given them, Harry began reviewing and revising his plans for The Order. These people would form the foundation of his power base in wizarding Britain. He would have to trust them with his life. More than that, he had to prepare them for what he was certain would be war. He didn't know when the Goblins would begin their campaign, but nothing they ever did was good for anyone but themselves. He had to make sure that his inner circle was as deadly as he could make them. The training regime he had already started Hermione on was designed to do that.

Harry planned on introducing the Flame and the Void to the other members of The Order sometime in their third year, after he'd had a chance to ensure their loyalty to him. If the basis for truly wandless magic were to reach his enemies, he would lose his greatest advantage. He feared what some, particularly the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters, would put that knowledge to.

The skills he intended to teach in the more immediate future were focused more on magical combat and potions. Neither subject had a particularly good teacher: one seemed incompetent, the other was a Death Eater. Harry had no intention of letting The Order, his inner circle, study only what was taught at Hogwarts. All of their enemies in wizarding Britain had gone through Hogwarts, after all. Riddle had trained his followers personally as long as he could because he needed them to be deadly, and the standard Hogwarts education hardly covered all the bases on that. Since he had to prepare his followers and allies for war, where any advantage was a good one, physical training would be needed too. Harry just had to find a way to get them into a gym. _Not an easy task_.

But he could plot about that later. He had promised Hagrid that he would visit the friendly half-giant before dinner. Hermione had seen him open the letter at the breakfast table on Wednesday, and asked if she could meet the man too. Harry checked his watch, and saw that the time he'd said he'd drop by was fast approaching.

He turned to his best friend. She nodded at him, and stood up. They said their goodbyes, packed up their belongings, and left for the grounds. It was a good end to their first week at Hogwarts.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

The school year dragged on, the weeks blending into each other as every student went about according to his own schedule. Harry, Hermione, and their friends were all at the top of their classes. Even though The Order was planned to be something greater than Hogwarts, it functioned very effectively as a study group.

A few other first-years had joined them, hoping to boost their own grades and of course, get information about the Boy Who Lived. From Slytherin, Tracey Davis and Blaise Zabini had applied and been accepted. Daphne had put a good word in for them, but Harry still had his doubts about them, as he had about her. Morag McDougal, Terry Boot, and Padma Patil reasoned that the club would help their grades. Parvati Patil, Dean Thomas, and Sally-Anne Perks were the first new students to be accepted. All of the Hufflepuffs in their year had joined, and all seemed happy with the camaraderie in the club.

Harry had managed to find a sleep-walking spell and used it to persuade The Order to begin physical training. "_As long as the body goes through the motions," _he had said, _"the body will reap the benefits. The mind will not be bothered during in, and we can use potions to speed up the physical recovery the body would have gotten in that sleep."_ Every one of the nine now cast it before bed. Every night, they'd all troop up to the Room of Requirement and join Harry in his gym, and after two months, the results were showing.

The magical training was almost as smooth. Their skills with a wand were more spread out; Daphne was by far the best of the eight, and Neville the worst. In their first session, Harry noticed Neville fighting with his wand for even mediocre results. So he'd kept the other wizard back at the end of the second.

_"__Neville," Harry called. The pudgy boy came up to him. "I know I'm not a very good wizard-" "Nonsense!" Harry interrupted. "The reason you're having such trouble is that wand. I can tell it is not matched to you."_

_Neville shifted back and forth a bit. "It belonged to my Dad. My Gran says that I honor his memory by using it."_

_"__Then your Grandmother is deliberately sabotaging your magical education and development! You need a properly matched wand, or you'll always have trouble with spellcasting." He thought for a moment. "Come up to my dorm tomorrow. Let's see what we can do."_

Neville had been quite shocked that Harry had studied wandcrafting, but his results could not be questioned. The Longbottom scion's new wand was thirteen inches of cherry wood with a core of Unicorn tail hair. His performance in class and The Order's combat sessions had improved drastically. He still had some problems with confidence, but Harry was certain that he was on the road to maturity.

The Occlumency was the hardest part. Those who had not been exposed to the art before picked it up quickly, building their mazes and illusions to ensure that anyone penetrating their minds wouldn't get to anything important. Daphne and Susan, on the other hand, already had some training under their belts and resisted the method Harry was teaching. They thought the goal was to keep probes out by brute force; Harry insisted that they take a softer approach. _"The mazes confuse anyone trying to get inside your heads. They're designed to make Legilimency take longer to reach anything, so that you can break eye contact. This helps maintain the illusions I'm teaching you; if someone can see something in your head and you have no obvious defenses, they won't question it."_

Given the length of time Occlumency training would usually take, Harry had decided that he needed a way to protect them in the meantime. His analysis of Riddles memories had given him a number of spells that could be used for such a purpose. They were rather time consuming to cast, and didn't last much longer than a few months, but they worked. The dangerous part was that continued use of them could sabotage your attempts to build naturally the defenses those spells gave artificially, preventing you from learning proper Occlumency. Still, once he'd explained the concept to his Order, they'd accepted the less-than-ideal solution and let him cast the spells.

That was actually one of the reasons he emphasized misdirection and deception in defenses, rather than walls and guards. Proper Occlumency takes years to master, but it takes a lot less time to produce illusions and such. They wouldn't be able to withstand a full-strength Legilimency assault, but they could slow it down considerably. _That should give my friends sufficient time to break eye contact. Still need to be able to shrug off Giant-sized mental blows, but, baby steps._

Hermione had thrown herself into the exercises Harry had given her over the past year. She could see how hard Harry was pushing the others, and knew that he had to have a reason. He just couldn't do otherwise. She had determined to become the witch he needed her to be.

The study club celebrated her birthday on the 19th. The brilliant witch was quite touched that she had so many friends. Harry had cooked the birthday dinner, which made the party an even greater success. The presents weren't particularly creative, given that most of them had only known her a little under three weeks, but she appreciated them anyway.

Harry sat in his office. It was little more than a tent he had set up with his desk, bookshelves, and comfy chair in one corner of the Gryffindor Common Room, but it served its purpose. His overseer on his family's farms had sent a report that the decline of the last few years had been turned around. The large influx of Crups, Kneazles, and Zombies had cleared out all of the vermin, vines, and other undesirable elements quite nicely. The fields would be ready for planting in the spring, sooner if the experimental time dilation field wards actually worked.

One of the things his master had taught him was how to run a business. The House of Potter had several: grain &amp; produce farms, a Quidditch training camp, a print shop, and now Harry's creature ranch. The older ones had declined in the ten years Harry spent at Durzkaban, and he needed them operational if he was to avoid poverty.

The Potters may never have been very wealthy, until recently, but that would not be enough to stave off whatever the Goblins had plotted, let alone lead the Wizarding World into a Golden age. He need much more substantial coffers to fight a war, which he was quite sure was coming, and those things producing income for his family had declined.

Harry still didn't know if Dumbledore was to blame for that or not. On the one hand, there were managers on the side of Light who could have assumed control of those businesses and kept them running, so the Headmaster hadn't put much thought into it. On the other hand, the Dumbledore family had never been even as wealthy as the Potters, and most of their family had become professional academics, so Albus may not have trusted his own judgement in picking a manager for a business. On top of that, the fields had been burned during the first war with Voldemort, so maybe Dumbledore had decided it was simply a lost cause.

Questions of why and how aside, the fact remained that he needed money. The only reliable way to get money was to own businesses and properties and have other people working them. His master had done quite a bit to shore up his finances through giving him forty percent ownership of the fortified cities he'd built up in what had once been sleepy retirement communities. While the rents from that land, and the share of profits from businesses partnered with him, where substantial, the cities were more about making people safe and providing a recruitment base for the army they would eventually need.

At around one-thirty, Harry laid down his quill. He needed some time to simply relax. Running a business was _hard_. Gilderoy had told him that this was one, something he would need to learn how to do, and two, something that _only_ he could do. _"I would have loved to stop the decline on your businesses, particularly the farms,_ his master had said,_ "but I couldn't. I am not related to you closely enough to circumvent the Wizengamot and deny them the chance to appoint an untrustworthy manager. Given that Lucius Malfoy has the largest single voting block there, whoever was chosen would be indifferent to you, at best. I judged it not worth the risk."_

On the plus side, one of his other plans had gone better than he'd hoped. House Elves were very useful creatures to have around, but Hogwarts had too many of them. The castle simply didn't produce enough work for them to do. He'd anticipated hiring a few for himself, and a number more for the cities, but no more than forty.

Just over two hundred had jumped at the chance for more work.

That was enough to let Harry start exposing wizards, particularly Purebloods, to Muggle culture; specifically, food. The remaining Elves were simply too few to do everything they way they had before, so Harry helpfully directed them to the new Hogsmeade KFC. It was already a hit with a number of the Muggleborns, and it caught on quickly with the rest of the students ten minutes into the first serving. Other restaurants, like Mexican and Asian, would follow soon.

Hermione entered his office right then. "Harry, we have to get going. We'll be late for Charms."

***Scene Break***

Charms class was fun, as usual. Professor Flitwick stood up on his desk and told the class, "Good morning, everyone. I hope you've been practicing that 'swish-and-flick' wand motion. Let's do it together."

The students of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw all waved their wands in the way ordered.

"Today we will be learning the Levitation Charm, or making objects fly. It uses the wand motion we just performed, coupled with the incantation _Wingardium Leviosa_. Get into pairs and practice levitating the feather in front of you."

Harry tried to team up with Hermione, but the professor put him with Seamus Finnegan and Hermione with Weasley. _That's a disaster waiting to happen. Either she'll get so frustrated she hexes him, or he'll insult her enough to leave her in tears. I'd better keep an eye on those two._

As Harry expected, his best friend mastered the charm first. "Look everyone! Miss Granger's done it! Five points to Gryffindor!" Flitwick exclaimed. She blushed at the praise.

Weasley wore his usual 'I hate you 'cuz you're smarter than me' look. Harry had seen it every time someone else did well in class. He couldn't help but feel sorry for the red-haired wizard, as that sort of behavior was usually seen in jealous kids unable to outshine their older siblings. And Weasley had _five_. _Still doesn't excuse his being an arse._

After class, the first-years filed out of the room, chattering excitedly about that new spell. Harry was rather less impressed; he'd been performing such feats at the age of six. He didn't really understand it until he was nine.

_"__Have you been practicing the Flame and the Void, my apprentice?"_

_Harry nodded at Lockhart. "Yes, master. I am."_

_The older wizard chuckled. "Then you can begin performing greater spells. The Flame and the Void helps us focus on the magic we want to wield. _

_"__There are three types of wizards in this world, Harry: Wand Wizards, Hand Wizards, and Thought Wizards. Wand Wizards require a device to focus and enhance the power they have, so they cannot use many of the greater spells, if any at all. Calling forth their magic involves reciting an incantation, even if only in their thoughts, and moving their focus, usually a wand, in a specified pattern. But their results are invariable for the most part, their spells producing the same effect every time they are cast. They can be some of the most reliable spellcasters._

_"__Hand Wizards have a good deal more power and control over their own magic than Wand Wizards. They don't need any external assistance to cast their spells, which are greater in effect than any of the wand spells. Like the Wand Wizards, they incorporate physical motions into their spells, but these are designed to shape the spell after casting, not actually call it forth. It takes quite a bit longer to train a Hand Wizard, as they require mental fortitude and agility, both hard to learn quickly. _

_"__Thought Wizards are the most powerful of human wizards. They can invoke magic using only their thoughts; as long as they have access to their power, no prison or restraint can hold them. To become one of this exclusive order of wizards, you must achieve greater discipline and strength of mind than any Hand Wizard. You may or may not ever reach this point, Harry, but striving toward it will make you a better wizard anyway."_

_He then walked over to one of the bookshelves in the room. He pulled out a rather old-looking tome and handed it to Harry. "This book contains exercises that will help you develop the mental faculties required to cast magic without external reinforcement. They all use the Flame and the Void, and will exhaust you until you have the endurance and reserves of strength of the greatest of mages."_

Something suddenly hit his shoulder, knocking Harry out of his reminiscences. A head of bushy brown hair ran away from him, and Harry knew he could hear her crying. He saw Weasley and Finnegan laughing, the girls glaring at them, and deduced that the ginger prat had just insulted Hermione badly. _This will not stand!_

His hand flashed out and seized the back of Weasley's robe. One quick tug later and the insensitive arse landed on it. "That was entirely uncalled for, Weasley. I've put up with you since the start of term out of politeness, but I cannot just let you insult my best friend. You will apologize to her before dinner, or the Caretaker will find you hanging by your ankles in the dungeons!"

Satisfied with the terrified expression on the redhead's face, Harry turned and marched over to the girls. "Would you mind helping me look for Hermione? I don't want her to miss class just because Weasley decided to be an arse to her."

They all agreed.

***Scene Break***

After their last class that day, Harry asked the other girls if they'd found her. Padma answered first. "She's in the girls' loo on the third floor, crying. I tried to tell her that she shouldn't let Weasley get to her, that he was just not worth it, but I don't think it helped."

"Thank you Padma. Mind telling the others that I'll be late for the Feast? I have a best friend to comfort."

Seeing her nod, Harry strode off to the third floor. He reached it five minutes later, having taken a few hidden staircases and one concealed passage through a portrait. A pair of Hufflepuffs walked out of the bathroom as he approached.

"Pardon me, ladies, is Hermione Granger in there? She needs me."

One of the witches giggled. "Aren't you a little young for a girl to 'need you'?" The other one slapped her friend's shoulder. "She's crying, and this is her best friend. Of course she needs him." Then she turned to him. "Nobody else is in there, so go give her the hug she needs."

Harry thanked the two witches, deliberately ignoring the images that wanted to reflect what the first had said, and pushed the door open. "Hermione?"

The sniffling from the only occupied stall paused. "What are you doing here, Harry? You could get in trouble for entering the girls' loo."

"Fact one: you're my best friend. Fact two: I haven't seen you since this morning. Fact three: you're crying in a bathroom. This situation has me concerned for you. Weasley had no cause to even think such things, let alone say them. He's unequivocally wrong. Now come out of that stall and give me one of your bone-crushing hugs. I think you need it."

She sniffed a few more times, obviously thinking, then unlocked the stall and came out. Harry wasted no time; two seconds later she was crying into his shoulder, his arms pulling her tightly against him.

Ten minutes later, Hermione had exhausted her tears, and regained control. She dried her eyes with one hand, the other still firmly attached to her best friend. Neither made any effort to let go. _This is rather pleasant,_ Harry thought. _If only I didn't have images of us in ten years doing it. Damn you, Lockhart! You put Pureblood marital politics in the head of a wizard who just wants to enjoy what remains of his childhood!_

Harry looked over his friend's shoulder at his watch. "I think you'd better get cleaned up, Hermione. The Feast starts in thirty minutes, and it'll take us almost that long to deposit your books in your room and get there."

She gasped. "Oh! I missed all my afternoon classes! I must speak to the professors-"

Then she remembered. "I can talk to them tomorrow, explain why I missed and make up any assignments. Thank you for being here for me, Harry." She leaned up and kissed his cheek, then pushed him out into the hall. "I'll only be a few minutes."

Harry chuckled. _For all of her maturity and bookishness, she's still a girl. We are definitely going to be late to the Feast._

***Scene Break***

_However did that woman end up Deputy Headmistress?! When a teacher comes in, shouting about a troll in the dungeons, you do not send half the student body straight at it! Thank the Valar Daphne taught us that Sonorus Charm._

He had been most amused by Quirrel's performance in the Great Hall. The man clearly didn't know how to act, but his audience was so bereft of logic that they never noticed. McGonagall responded as he should have expected by sending all students to their dormitories. It never occurred to her that the Slytherin dorms were in the dungeons, and the Hufflepuffs' weren't far off in the basement.

Her questionable leadership skills did, however, give Harry the opportunity to establish himself as the most prominent first-year. He'd stood up, cast Sonorus on himself, and bellowed to the entire Hall "Belay that order! The Hufflepuff and Slytherin Dorms are close enough to the dungeons that the troll would find them and kill them very quickly! Turn these tables over and barricade the door with them! Prefects and older students: wands out! If the troll tries to enter the Hall, blast it apart!"

Flitwick quickly backed his plan up, and started reinforcing the tables-turned-last line of defense. McGonagall seemed to realize her stupidity, and didn't bother speaking until she led the teachers out the door to deal with the troll. The Headmaster had been called away earlier that week for an emergency meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards, and had not yet returned. Harry really wanted to know just why he wanted to keep holding three jobs that should each be full-time, but didn't put much thought in it that day.

That one night did more to cement the image of the heroic Boy Who Lived than any other since the night the title was bestowed. _The foundation for my power base is laid. Now I just have to make it powerful enough to resist any attack. Piece of cake, assuming I want to both eat it and still have it._

He drifted off to sleep to the memory of holding his best friend so tightly. _If Weasley insults Hermione again, I don't care what anyone thinks. I'll duel him into a puddle of ectoplasmic goo!_

* * *

A/N: The bit about Hand and Thought Wizards was inspired by the movie _Merlin_ from the 90s with Sam Neill and Helena Bonham Carter. The Flame and the Void seems a fairly common thing for magic users, which I first ran across in sonhamdragon's _Harry Potter: Apprentice _here on this site.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

November passed in a haze of classes, studies, and building his network of allies and followers. With Dumbledore running around, dealing with the recent influx of ICW and Wizengamot business, Snape was unable to really bully anyone in Potions classes. McGonagall may have been a totally ineffectual leader, but she was still a competent administrator and fair-minded judge.

The study club Harry had started at the beginning of term had expanded beyond his inner circle, and encompassed most of first-year. They even had some Gryffindor and Hufflepuff second-years attending for the practice. The only house not well-represented was Slytherin. The three already in it were the most remotely trustworthy people in the dorms of green and silver and the Boy-Who-Lived wanted to be able to trust them enough to keep such dedicated schemers in line before admitting more. _Plus, I don't like the way Daphne and Tracy are looking at me; it's almost like they're trying to plot out how to marry me. _

Harry proved a most able teacher. He had determined not to teach the foundations of true magic to any but his inner circle, and even then, not before he could trust them absolutely. But the wand magic he had learned from watching the memories he got out of the fragment of Tom Riddle lodged in his scar was still enough to make the non-Order members of his club the best spellcasters their age.

_He woke up with a headache. He'd lost consciousness during a training session, which was odd for him; he never succumbed to pain like that. _

_"__Good to see you awake, apprentice," a voice spoke. His master held out a glass of water, which he took eagerly and drained in short order. "I had hoped that we wouldn't have to do this so soon, that we could wait until you were a little older, but Fate seems to have other plans. You remember what I told you of Tom Riddle?"_

_Harry nodded slowly. "I do, master. May I assume that this has something to do with the Horcruxes he made?"_

_Gilderoy chuckled. "Indeed it does, Harry. Riddle was and is a megalomaniac, and only performed the ritual to split his soul using murders he found significant. Yours he saw as the most important, as with your death, he thought to cement his power forever. Your survival corrupted the ritual, but did not stop it. Since he did not have a properly-prepared vessel with him that night, the piece of soul he severed latched onto the nearest magical being: you. Your collapse yesterday tells me that the fragment may be somewhat active, and may be able to influence you."_

_Harry sat in silence for a minute. The idea that he had a part of the man who murdered his parents and tried to send him the same way in his head, potentially able to possess him, was quite disturbing. "Since you say 'you hoped we could wait,' you have a way to deal with this problem?"_

_His master nodded gravely. "I do. A tome recovered from the Library of Alexandria detailed a ritual to transfer a soul from one vessel to another. It was originally used to transfer Phylacteries, which are a more primitive form of Horcrux, but after much work, I think we can use it on your dark passenger. My Phoenix friend and a Unicorn can and will supply us with Light energies to empower you and weaken your enemy, and that should make the process easier. It is not without risk, and will be one of the greatest challenges you may ever face, so I can understand if you need some time."_

_Harry didn't need much thought. He wanted the blasted bastard out of his head, and would pay nearly any price. _

_That Friday, Gilderoy carved the appropriate ritual circle, and Harry stepped into it. He wore only a simple robe, to preserve his modesty as he lay on the ground in the center. Then Gilderoy began to chant. Harry immediately lost feeling in his body, and closed his eyes in preparation for what he knew would be a miserable experience. He was doing this to get better, after all, and misery is par for the course in most medical procedures. One might even argue that without some degree of unpleasantness, actually getting better is impossible._

_Then Harry opened his eyes, and saw what looked like the fortress his body was in, save that he could tell at a glance that it was all in his head. This was the hard part. To remove a Horcrux from a sentient creature without crippling injury, the host must cast it out. Since this was Voldemort, Harry expected nothing less than a full-scale mental war. Sure enough, it did. Voldemort and Harry traded arrows, fireballs, and lighting bolts all within the privacy of his own head for what seemed like weeks. Tom Riddle was a genius, and he had studied many branches of magic, some of them quite obscure. One of the least well-known arts the man had delved into had been the ability to reprogram another's mind through Legilimency. That skill could only be used after any defenses had been utterly destroyed, so Tom had had to study every branch of mental combat he could. His prowess in this arena was unmatched. _

_Harry had loads of his own advantages in this conflict. First, the body was his, and its magical core responded to him alone. The love and care he had received from his several sets of part-time surrogate parents, combined with the drive of knowing his destiny, had given him a stronger sense of self than most nine-year-olds. Finally, the fragment of Tom Riddle in his head was just that, a fragment, no more able to stand on its own than a fragment of pineapple, while his own soul was whole and undamaged._

_Despite these positive conditions, he had a fair number of weaknesses to overcome as well. Riddle's Horcrux may have been less than a full soul, but he still had over five decades of experience on Harry. Harry was also still a child; like all other children, he didn't have a fully defined sense of self or the opportunity to develop high skills in much of anything. He had the abuse from the Dursleys sapping his will to fight. If he had tried this ritual without the careful guidance of his Master, and the dual influences for good provided by the Phoenix and Unicorn, he would have been consumed by the Dark Lord._

_The conflict ended nearly eighteen hours later, but Harry remained a citizen of Dreamland for at least two more days. He was only nine years old, and despite the love and care of his master and Healer, his age had not allowed him to develop the reserves of magical or mental strength needed to fight Voldemort on his own. The battle had drained him of nearly all of his energy. He needed the time to recover. When he did, his master showed him the Pensieve-like vessel the Horcrux had been transferred into. _

_"__Harry, I realize that you're going to have to fight Voldemort on relatively even terms sometime in the next ten years. He hates you too much for anything else. His memories, which can be examined and studied without the associated emotions through this device, should give you the edge you need."_

Harry was quite glad he had that bowl of memories to study from. His master could only teach him things he knew, and Voldemort knew things that no one else did. The only other way he might have gotten them is if he'd been merged with the Horcrux. Of course, if that had been tried, he likely would have been overwritten to a degree by the experience, even if the Phoenix and Unicorn could prevent it from twisting him to darkness. And that ignored the risk that bringing a Dementor into the room would have posed. The ritual, though also a risk, let him benefit from the magical knowledge, memories, and skills of one of the greatest dark lords in history without feeling as if they were his own. Emrys the Phoenix and Emilia the Unicorn had done him wonders, even afterwards, staying around to keep him company and further reinforce the love and care from those he'd come to regard as his true family. Part of him hoped that Hermione would one day join it.

Thinking about his bushy-haired best friend, Harry felt satisfaction at her progress with her special training. She had become accomplished enough at the Flame and the Void that he could begin teaching her the most basic of true battle spells. Given her proclivities for academics, Harry predicted that she would focus her future efforts in either Alchemy or Enchantment, both of which were quite useful in magical society, but that didn't mean she could avoid combat entirely and he wanted her to be safe.

Her Occlumency was even further along. He now had trouble penetrating her mental illusions in their practice sessions, and she had even begun building some more traditional defenses below those. Of course, her cleverness gave her more inventive protections than most wizards had. Harry predicted that she would be proficient enough to begin Legilimency training in less than a year.

The others in their group, as expected, were not up to her level. He simply didn't trust them enough yet to share his greatest secrets, which the Occlumency technique he taught Hermione was. But with what he had shared, the illusions and mazes, the members of his Order had better protections than anyone else their age. He could see that some would be ready to begin building proper guardians and traps to fill their minds with before third year. _Daphne, Tracy, and strangely, Susan certainly will certainly fit that category. The others aren't far behind._

He had a meeting tonight of his inner circle, and had to decide how best to go about what he wanted to teach. It was most unusual to being dueling before age fourteen, at least on this level, but the sooner he started them down this path, the better they would get. He took his friends up to the Room of Requirement, which they used as their training room, and turned to look at them.

"ÓK, tonight we begin dueling training," he said. "Step into the circle indicated by your name and face your opponent. On my signal, begin. Your goal is to render your opponent unable to continue. Any methods may be used, and we will be using these practice wands to ensure that we all survive." He indicated a rack of identical wands. "After all duels have finished, or the last one hits the ten-minute mark past the second to last, we will watch the instant replays, see what we did well, what we need to improve on, and where we could be more careful about weaknesses creeping in. Are there any questions?"

Susan raised her hand. "What if two duels become stalemates? Will you just call them over?"

Harry thought about it. "If two pairs cannot resolve the duels themselves, then I will begin a countdown of five minutes. The winners will be whoever scores the most points in that time, Queensbury tournament rules."

Harry watched the pairs switch their own wands for the practice wands he had the Room provide, take their positions, and gave them the signal to begin. Spells shot across each ring like brightly-colored bullets, each of the duelists trying to bring their opponents down. Daphne, as expected, employed a darker selection of hexes and curses than her opponent, Neville. The sandy-haired Lion however had a good deal more power than the average eleven-year-old, and a proper wand to express it. Each of his spells had so much energy behind them that Daphne's shields usually collapsed with only one or two hits, forcing her to dodge and employ slightly more powerful shield spells.

Hermione ended her duel first. Given the training that she had done with Harry before September 1st, it was only natural that she have the greater skill in combat. She and her opposite, Michael Corner, walked up to Harry with their own appropriately smug or embarrassed expression. The three then turned to watch the other duels.

Twenty-three minutes later, all the duels had finished. Hermione, Neville, Susan, and Lisa had won their duels, leaving Hannah, Michael, Daphne, and Ernie as the losers. Harry looked at the winners, "Well done! You have vanquished your opponents. If this were a tournament, you would be moving into the next round. But this was just to see where you stand on magical combat; while you did win, you did not do so as easily as you could have."

He then turned to the losers. "You need work. Daphne, when facing a wizard with significantly more power than you have, you must cast faster than he can. If your hexes come out more rapidly than his can, you can force him to shield, giving you time to throw more curses that you would have otherwise spent dodging or shielding. Michael, you faced an opponent with a good bit of power and an impressive arsenal of spells. In future encounters like this, your strategy depends on speed of casting and physical prowess. Muscular tissue is just as good as a shirt of steel chainmail for resisting spell damage, and that forces her to tire herself out with even more powerful spells if she wants to actually injure you. Hannah, you lost because you did not seem to want to attack; you won't have the luxury of passivity against anyone who is not your friend, so I'm going to have to teach you how to be aggressive. Ernie, you started out well, but then you let success go to your head and became sloppy. Your opponent took advantage of that, as she should have, and brought you down."

Knowing that he would have to balance this out, lest he lose half the Order, he then returned his gaze to the winners. "Hermione, your weakness is dodging. You let Michael score more hits on your shield than you should have. If he'd been a Death Eater, he would have been throwing Unforgivables, which ignore shields. Neville, you won only by attrition; against an opponent with equal endurance, you would lose. You need to cast a wider variety of spells, and learn some specialized counters for fire curses, which gave you considerable trouble. Susan, what you need to work on is casting speed. Not every opponent will just let you cast spells at their shields, they will be hexing you back. Lisa, you need to increase the power of your spells. Ernie would not have been able to force you back if you could put more power into your shields. If you were facing a cocky dark wizard, his shields would have stopped anything you could throw at them cold. Spells either have to break a shield, or bypass it, and those that bypass are on the higher end of the power scale anyway."

Then he went over what each person did well, ensuring that they would not forget to keep making those better. Since speed was the most widespread problem, Harry lined the Order up on a firing range, and set them to drilling each spell they used in their duels. The goal was to land five spells in less than three seconds for that night.

After everyone finished the speed drill, he set the targets to random motion, and told his students to hit their target ten times in a row, each time with a different spell. This one went more slowly, as had not set a time limit for the to worry about.

The evening drew to a close. For their final activity that evening, each one stepped back into the ring, this time with a different opponent, and dueled again. Hermione, Daphne, Neville, and Ernie won this time. Harry congratulated the victors, and assigned everyone a report on their second duel. He wanted three things they did well and three things they needed to improve. They just didn't have time for a post-round breakdown as they did earlier.

***Scene Break***

_I know that the accuracy drill wasn't terribly realistic_, Harry reflected in his four-poster bed that night. _Next time, I'm going to have to incorporate a time limit of some kind. Perhaps I can tell them to hit it five times in ten seconds? No, have to start that on fifteen seconds, ten would be beyond most of them. I'm going to have to increase the pace at which Neville learns spells. I know it will take a good deal of work, but he needs to have a more diverse arsenal to win again. _

His thoughts then turned to the club that had sprouted up around his Order. _I know that most of them won't be Order material, but they are still young; they have time to get better. Every first-year Gryffindor and Hufflepuff is in my club. I have all but two Ravenclaws, and I even have three Slytherins. If I can capture the next year's incoming class at this rate, I should have enough students to begin organizing the Army of Light. I know that Godric's Hollow and its sister cities can field over twenty thousand soldiers in total, but a force bearing that stylized tree in Wizarding Britain would not be counted friendly. It would be resisted as a foreign invasion, which it technically would be. _

He knew that he had time before the Goblins launched whatever fresh hell they had in the works, which was good for him. He didn't really want to have to call upon the Freehold to defend any part of Magical Europe. Wizards by and large are a lazy and short-sighted lot, he knew, but European ones took that to a whole new level. _If the Hordes launch their war now, all of Europe would fall. Hundreds of thousands would die. Thank the Valar they aren't ready yet; I need the time to prepare at least Wizarding Britain to stand as a beacon of light._

* * *

A/N: Once again, I drew inspiration for parts of this chapter from the Lord of the Rings. The Valar are basically Archangels in Tolkien's system. The fight with the Horcrux in Harry's head was inspired by Perfect Lionheart's _Partially Kissed Hero_, even if I twisted it to fit my own purposes and ends.


End file.
